Julian seems to notice the tension between woman and woman’s best frenemy, because when he finally stands and steps inside, he pulls me in by the waist.
“Good,” he finishes. “I meant to say you look good.”
I throw my arms around his neck, glowing in self-satisfaction when his gaze drops to my glossed lips.
“Just good?” I ask, and Julian smirks as his free hand trails up my neck.
“Distractinglygood,” he says. He pulls on the strap of my suspiciously clean apron. “I’m not sure I ever thought I’d see you in one of these. Very domestic of you.”
“Do you want me to take it off?” I say. “I look even better underneath.”
“I’m sure you do,” Julian says, drawing me into him. His kiss starts the way it always has, with a gentle, breathtaking press that is salacious in its suggestion but not its technique. It’s the anticipation that gets me, the subtle tensing of his hand at the small of my back, the closing of distance between our bodies. I groan into it, draw myself onto my tiptoes to offer myself more to him…
He pulls back and steps bodily away from me.
“I’m eating crow already. It smells amazing in here,” he says, whipping off his jacket and arranging it carefully over the back of my chair. He folds up his sleeves, revealing his strong, threaded forearms, and reaches into his pocket. “Got something for you.”
Of course you do, I think. When he pulls a Tiffany blue box out, I have to fix my face into one of appropriate gratitude. I take it from him and pop it open to reveal a pair of small diamond-studded hoopearrings. Between the luxury branding and the stones, I know that this gift, one of many just this month, costs more than the engagement ring that was once a permanent fixture on my finger.
“Thank you. They’re beautiful,” I say. It’s not a lie; they’re exactly my taste, the sort of jewelry only a man who pays attention could choose for a woman. “Though you know you didn’t have to.”
“I know. And I like spoiling you in part because you don’t demand it.”
I scoff, reaching to take out the studs I already have in, but Julian steps up. “I’ve got it.”
He stands close as he works, and every hair on my body strains for him. He’s switched colognes to something sweeter, warmer, with caramel and smoke, and I resent how much he smells like home. Resent his gentle reverence as he pops out my earrings one after the other and stows them in the new box, then affixes the new set with the same care. Resent the pride in his eyes when he leans back to regard me, and the way, afterward, he so easily breezes past me to grab a corkscrew for the wine.
The food I’ve prepared is heavy, meant to be consumed after an energy-draining romp or two. Already my plan to seduce my boyfriend is falling apart, and I’m struggling to hide my frustration. When I take off my apron to reveal the deep V of my dress and the breasts that sit pretty behind it, Julian’s gaze only drifts down once before spending the rest of dinner affixed respectfully on my eyes. He fills my petulant silence with compliments on the meal, updates about the breakthroughs the companies he’s backing in Malaysia have made, the recent extensions of his odd hours to take meetings, the possibility of him supporting an artist residency in Woodlawn, topics I would normally find interesting but today exhaust me. When he asks me questions, my answers are clipped.
We have just gone through our fourth tense silence when Julian finally sets his cutlery down.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I say, even as I stab into a cluster of lettuce.
Julian sighs.
“Sean, you’ve spent the last five minutes trying to murder your salad for a crime I’m sure it didn’t commit,” he says. “So why don’t you tell me what’s going on, so we can discuss it?”
It’s a measured, mature, and altogether reasonable response, but I’m no longer a reasonable woman. I’m all fire and brimstone, red wine fanning at the flames of my humiliation. I push my chair back and stand.
“You’re a smart man, Julian, I think you can figure it out.”
I reach for his empty plate to take it to the sink, but Julian stills me with a hand over my wrist.
“Not smart enough to read minds,” he implores. “Please, Sean. Talk to me.”
There’s an earnestness to his tone that makes something in me crack. I’ve rehearsed this conversation in my head a hundred times. But the words that finally find their way out aren’t the controlled, composed, structured dialogue I’ve prepared. They’re raw, and angry, and my throat closes around them as I speak.
“Are you not attracted to me?” I ask.
Julian’s eyes widen with shock, and his hand falls away.
“What?” he says. “Of course I am. How could you even ask that?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe because we’ve had sex once three months ago, and you seem to have no interest in doing it again.”
And there it is, my grievance laid bare. It feels like I’ve just dragged the elephant in the room onto center stage, and that he’s taken a shit on the floor.