When I come downstairs, Tom has fixed breakfast. Same as every morning: two eggs over easy, two pieces of bacon, one slice of toast. Butter, strawberry jam, thinly spread.

I join him at the bar, taking the high-backed stool to his right, even though I know he prefers me to his left. It’s the gentlemen’s way, he explained once. Something about defending a woman’s honor. Swords and stuff. I forget the rest.

Right now, I couldn’t care less about honor. I care about breakfast.

I stab my fork into the eggs and shove them into my mouth.

Tom glares at me. “Something wrong with the eggs darling?”

It’s safe to say, I’m not a morning person.

I smile and swallow. That’s what got me into this mess. “They’re perfect,” I assure him. He senses I’m lying, but he can’t prove it because I take another bite and then another. The best kind of lie. If they’re going to suspect you, might as well go the extra mile to ensure they can’t prove it.

The truth is, he isn’t as good a cook as the chef I had at mom and dad’s. The truth is, I hate it when he’s condescending. I hate it when he calls me darling. But what can you do? I guess something is better than nothing. Plus, I’m confident I can talk Tom into a chef of our own if I play my cards right. Shouldn’t be too hard. I already managed a maid. Still, I’m so sick of casseroles. I don’t know what I might do if I’m forced to eat another. Just the thought makes me want to pick up my plate and hurl it across the room. The rage is building like a pressure cooker. I don’t know what I have to do before it’s too late.

“This visit,” I say, reaching for my o.j. but then opting for the toast instead. “With Beth—” I take a bite and chew. “It isn’t about our sex life again, is it?”

Tom looks at me crossly. It annoys him when I talk with food in my mouth. Regardless, he knows what I mean. I’ve already been reprimanded once by Josie for breaking some rule in that regard. Bless her. Even I could tell her heart wasn’t in it. Did I think it was a bit weird that ‘the church’ was involved in our sex life? Well, weird is subjective. Especially these days. But, okay, yeah, maybe a little. However, Tom is pretty inept at social stuff, so I didn’t for a minute put it past him to have someone else do his bidding.

“No,” he says. “It’s about the dancing.”

I shove the rest of the toast in my mouth and roll my eyes. Tom shifts my glass away from me slightly, so that once again it’s at the perfect angle. He’s explained why this is important before, but I forgot to listen. Before I know it, he has shifted his position. He is facing me full on. “With Josie gone, Beth needs someone she can rely on.”

I realize he’s just parroting what he’s heard. His recycled ideas annoy me on account of it being so early in the day.

“I bet she does.”

“Please, Melanie. This is important to me,” he says, and it soothes my anger. It’s my favorite aphrodisiac to hear people beg. It’s nice that he cuts right to the heart of the matter. I understand what Beth wants. Tom doesn’t have to tell me. She wants someone who won’t quit on her. She needs someone who is compliant. She wants to believe that someone is me. All I have to do is let her think she’s right. Thanks to Tom and his explaining everything, I understand how to play my role thoroughly. Nothing is more effective in seduction than letting the seduced think they are the ones doing the seducing.

“What’s wrong with dancing, anyway?” I ask adjusting the juice to my liking, handle facing me. I watch my husband’s jaw twitch. He hates it when I’m testy. “Is it against the rules, too?”

“You were supposed to mingle. You were supposed to be welcoming.”

“What does that mean exactly, Tom—to be welcoming?”

His brow furrows. I can see he doesn’t know what to say.

I scoot to the edge of the barstool. “Does it mean to have sex whenever you want?”

Suddenly, I’d like a fight to go along with my bland toast and my bland husband and my new bland life.

“Partly, yes.”

I shift the nightie I’m wearing away from my thighs, pulling it up toward my hips. Slowly, I part my legs. Wide. A little wider. All the way. “Do you want sex now Tom?”

“Not when you’re angry.”

I roll my eyes. “You know nothing about women.”

“You’re right.” He’s not good at lying, this conventional husband of mine. It’s almost like he doesn’t even try. I watch as he lines up his utensils. When he’s finished, he meets my eye. “But it’s not good for the baby, for you to have cortisol flooding your system this way.”

“You have a point,” I admit. In all areas of life, never give the impression that you are angling for something—this will raise a resistance you will never lower. It’s best to approach people from the side. “But I think if you were to fuck me, I’d feel better.”

He glances at his wrist. “I have to be at work in a half hour. It takes me twenty-four minutes to drive there. Six minutes is not enough time.”

“I thought it was in the agreement,” I counter. I should have taken another angle, this gives him the chance to remind me I wouldn’t know. I never read the damn thing. But it’s a fight I’m looking for, and with Tom often that requires a bit of prodding. He doesn’t fight directly. “I thought it says one is never to refuse their spouse.”

His phone dings. He fishes it from his pocket and checks it. He knows I hate it when he does this. To make matters worse, he doesn’t look at me when he speaks. “There are stipulations.”

“Stipulations raise my cortisol level, Tom.”

The muscle in his jaw twitches again. Something in his expression shifts. I’m pretty sure it’s his resolve.

“Hypothetically speaking…” I start. He looks up briefly. And then back at the phone. “Say we were to fuck…what hormones would flood my system then?”

He likes to explain the things he thinks I don’t know. It appears to be his brand of foreplay. To each their own, I say.

“Endorphins and oxytocin.” He answers matter of factly. His eyes are on the phone.

I lower my voice, even my tone, arch my back and reach for his belt. “Perfect. You’ve got five and a half minutes.”

Of course, Tom goes with it. To his credit, he is very efficient. Sure, he didn’t finish his breakfast. But he seemed satisfied nonetheless. And in the end, I was too. After all, I earned equity I could later cash in on. I won this round, fair and square. Tom is no easy opponent. He doesn’t think with his feelings and only on occasion with his dick.

When it was over, I was a bit shaken. Those three and a half minutes might have been the best sex of my life. Hard and rough, raw and angry, it was different than it normally is. I was concerned I felt something. Something more than the thrill of winning. There’s nothing like it, but this felt like more. I guess sometimes things catch you by surprise.