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“Cover those freckles, Lily,” my mom said. “Men don’t like imperfections.”
My heart told me he was with someone else. I made an excuse that I slept better on my own.
My dad’s eyes met mine, and my lip wobbled for a second. He knew what this was doing to me. He knew I hated this marriage, and he knew I was going to run the minute I was out of it.
“I am uncomfortable plenty of the time, Sebastian,” I said it lowly, almost like a growl. “I’m married to a man who barely acknowledges me. I moved across the country because I was forced to. I can sleep on an air mattress for one night. If it’s too much for you, then go get a hotel for yourself.”
“You have freckles.” He said it like he was dreaming, like he was entranced by them.
“I like the way you think, honey,” he said.
“If that is what she thinks,” he began slowly, “then I’ve failed her as a husband, and I’ll spend every day attempting to make up for it.”
“I’ve never . . . you know, come for anyone else.” Sebastian blinked, and then he turned red. “That’s a shame. You’re beautiful when you do it.”
“And what if I told you that being happy is what I want for you?” I took a shaky breath. No one wanted me to be happy.
“Absence makes the heart grow fonder?”
“Lily, you haunt my dreams,” he said. “When I close my eyes at night, I see you, dressed in whatever the fuck you want to be in, whatever weight you are at. Any time I see any curve of you, any amount of skin, I want to touch it, with my hands, with my tongue. I don’t care what. I want you.”
“Did you want that salad?” he asked. “What do you think?” I muttered. Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. “It’s fine,” I said. He leaned in. “They have pie. I’ll get you a slice and we can meet by the bathrooms.” “That might be the hottest thing you’ve ever said.”
