mental resistance that has always pulled me away from him is gone now. I can be with him without all the fear and confusion. While rationally I know that we’re still in a fake marriage and there are a decreasing number of days left on our contract, I’m able to not obsess about that. For the first time in my life, I can envision the possibility of some sort of happy ending for me.
Not a sure thing. Never a certainty. But at least the possibility.
I can see it now.
After all, who knows what will happen between us after our professional contract has ended? I’m almost positive that Damian has been happy for the past month too.
On a Thursday night, a few weeks before our contract is set to end, I’m lying alone in my bed. Damian texted earlier, saying he had to work late, so I shouldn’t wait up for him. That happens now and then, and I’m not about to hold it against him. I made myself a sandwich and worked for a while, thinking I might stay up until he returns. But at ten o’clock he still hadn’t appeared and I was getting tired, so I went on to bed.
I read for a half hour before I turn off the light. I doze off, but it’s only a short time later when I hear the front door open and the sounds of Damian’s arrival. He usually calls out when he comes home, but since it’s so late, he must have decided against it tonight.
He moves around, putting his bag down. Probably going into the kitchen to get something to eat. I’m glad he’s home, and I smile in the dark. I’m thinking about getting up to talk to him, but I end up dozing off again instead.
He wakes me up a few minutes later by climbing into the bed with me.
“Hey,” I mumble. “I was trying to wait up, but then I fell asleep.”
“That’s okay. It’s late.” He’s wearing boxer briefs and nothing else. It’s what he normally sleeps in. He smells like toothpaste but not like soap. His fragrance is warm and natural—like he’s had a long day.
“You didn’t take a shower.” I scoot over to snuggle against him, and he wraps an arm around me.
“Oh. Yeah. Sorry. I just didn’t have the energy. Do I stink?”
“No.” I giggle and press a kiss into his chest. “You smell just fine.”
I wonder if he’ll want sex. We still have it most nights. I’m drowsy, but it’s not entirely out of the question for me tonight. But he doesn’t make a move. He lets out a long, hoarse breath and adjusts his position.
“You okay?” I ask in a small voice when he doesn’t say anything else.
“Yeah.” He tilts his head down to nuzzle my hair. “Tired.”
He feels more than tired to me. My grogginess is clearing as uneasiness begins to tighten in my chest. “What’s the matter, Damian?”
“I told you—”
“I know what you said, but I’m not an idiot. Something is wrong.” Despite the words, my voice isn’t sharp. It’s hoarse with concern. Knowing indirect questions sometimes work better with him, I add, “Why did you have to work late tonight?”
“Oh, nothing really. I was just having trouble with this chapter of my dissertation.”
“What chapter? The new one you’re starting or the one you met with Dr. Mead about a couple of weeks ago?”
Dr. Mead is his dissertation director, an academic superstar whom Damian is thrilled to be working with.
“Yeah. The one he reviewed. I have to rewrite the stupid thing.”
“What?” I lift my head. “Completely?”
“Yeah. The argument is flawed.” I can tell from his tone that he’s quoting the words of someone else.
“Do you think it is?”
“Yes. It’s definitely flawed. I kind of knew it as I was writing it but figured I could fudge my way through it.” He shakes his head. His eyes are open, but he’s not looking at me. He’s staring at the ceiling. “But evidently not. And now I’m not sure how I can fix it. I’ve got to get him a revision tomorrow, and it’s not ready.”
“Oh no. I’m sorry. Didn’t he give you any suggestions for how to fix it?”
“Yeah, I can see theoretically what needs to happen, but I can’t seem to translate it into actual words on the page.” His eyes flicker toward mine in the dark room. “Anyway, I didn’t intend to come home and whine about it. I’m sure I’ll figure it out.”
“Damian, stop. You’re not whining.”