I Married a Master(52)
Author: Melanie Marchande

Very slowly, he lifted up his arm, and flipped me off.

The room settled into silence again, and

"You know why I picked you?" His eyes were closed, and I had no way of knowing if he was really talking to me. Or to anyone. For all I knew, he was seeing nothing but pink elephants and babies crawling on the ceiling.

Even so, my heart started racing. "No," I said. "Why?"

"Because," he said, slowly. "You really do."

If I prodded him, I’d probably make him forget what he was going to say. But I had to know.

"I really do what?"

He sighed. "Shine like a diamond."

It took me a while to remember what I’d sarcastically said at that party, when I was feeling inadequate next to all the elegant and wealthy women who vied for his attention on a daily basis.

"I saw it right away," he said. "You’re different. Maybe that was a stupid reason, and I should’ve picked somebody ordinary. Everything would be easier. But I didn’t. I picked you."

Smiling, I leaned back in my seat. "I’m sure none of the women you’ve been with are ordinary."

"I guess that’s true," he muttered. "Maybe I’m the ordinary one."

I laughed. "Not a lot of ordinary people have Teslas and private drivers."

"Daria hated it too," he muttered.

I was trying to keep up. "Daria?"

He didn’t answer, but I realized that must be his ex-wife. He’d never called her by name before.

"My money," he said. "She hated it, too. Eventually, she hated me."

There was genuine sadness in his voice, and I felt terrible in spite of myself. "I’m sure she didn’t hate you," I said.

"I wasn’t enough for her," he mumbled. A moment later, his voice became louder, clearer. "I’m never enough for any of them." He faded a little more. "Never enough."

I waited patiently, sensing he wasn’t quite finished. The nurse had told me it would all be nonsense. I had to keep that in mind. I should just walk away and let him sleep, but I wanted to hear it. Even if it was all total garbage, I had to know.

"The only reason I take control is because I don’t know what else to do. Anything else…terrifies me. Of course I have to give them all the power. That’s the hell of it. That’s the thing that keeps me awake at night. They can always walk away, and of course that’s how it has to be. I’d never really want it any other way. But still…" he sighed. "I can’t stand it. Any of it. I drive them away because it feels inevitable. Because I just can’t see any other end to it."

I swallowed hard. "I wasn’t your fault, with Daria," I said. "She made a choice."

He laughed softly. "Of course it was. I made it impossible for her. You know how I can get, and you barely even know me. Cold. Sarcastic. I made myself unlovable, and then I blamed her for not loving me. Imagine trying to live with me at my worst, twenty-four-seven. I was never outright hostile, and that was the worst part. I made her feel like a bad person for wanting to leave me, so that’s what she became. Everything she did, everything she became…it’s all because of me. It’s what I deserved.

"And that’s why I didn’t fight it," he said, his voice still faint but unmistakably clear and coherent. "Because deep down, just like the rest of them…I wanted to accept my punishment." His mouth twitched, but didn’t quite become a smile. "I thought if I didn’t fight it, if I let her…metaphorically, you know, stomp all over me in stiletto heels, I thought that would be enough. That I’d rest easy after that. I thought I’d feel better. She had the power to make the guilt go away. Or at least make it bearable. But of course, she didn’t.

"She didn’t owe me that. Nobody did. But I still haven’t forgiven her. I need it. I need it, and I can never have it. It’s never as easy as it seems. But I guess that’s why I’m so good at what I do. Every submissive always says I’m the best she’s ever had…and I know what you’re thinking, but I can tell when a woman’s lying to me. I’m the best, because I know exactly what they’re after. Seeing somebody else experience that release – it’s the closest I can get to experiencing it myself. I’ll be chasing it forever, but I’ll never find it."

His eyes opened, suddenly. A ghostly smile was tugging at his mouth, but his lips seemed too sluggish to give in. "And that’s it. Pathetic, huh? I’ve been trying to punish myself for so long, and it’s only at the last minute that I realized I didn’t want it. Like jumping off a bridge. That’s the real reason why it took so long. When I’m sober I won’t even be able to admit it to myself, but that’s the truth. I thought maybe if she really did get my company, that would do it. But now I’ve realized it’s not going to be enough. It’s never going to be enough. Because forgiveness is something you have to give someone. I can’t take it by force."

He was starting to drift off again, his eyelids fluttering closed. I wanted to say something, to comfort him, even if he’d forget all of this in a few hours. I just wanted him to stop drowning in his guilt, even if it was only for a little while.

A moment later, he exhaled softly, and I realized he was asleep.

Chapter Twenty

Jenna

Once Ben was recovered, he took me out to dinner at one of those restaurants with reservations booked out for a year. We hadn’t spoken since the day of the surgery, and I didn’t know if he remembered anything he’d said while he was coming out of it.

"It must be nice to be eating real food again," I commented, across the dimly-lit table.

He looked very sharp, of course, and it was hard to reconcile this version of Ben with the guy who’d tried to sing Pink Floyd on the sofa. Not a single hair was out of place.

Smiling, he took a sip of his drink. "Nicer than I realized. You don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone."

"So I’ve heard." I glanced around, feeling like everyone was staring at me.

"Not this coming weekend, but the one after," he said, with a secretive smile, "I’m taking you out of town. I already cleared it with Daniel and Maddy. When we come back, we’ll officially announce our engagement."

He said all of this very matter-of-factly, leaving no room for protests. Not that I would have, but I wasn’t used to being told what I was going to do.

"Where?" That seemed like the next logical question.

The corners of his mouth quirked up farther. "That would be telling. Same weather as here. Bring a swimsuit."

Fine, I could play that game. "So we should probably talk about the wedding, huh?"

The food arrived, and he seemed more than a little taken aback that I wasn’t demanding answers about the trip.