that voice: tell me what’s going on so we can do something about it. As if he didn’t know. Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe he didn’t realize just how much this was bothering me.
“I just…” I rubbed the back of my neck, my finger grazing the edge of the leather collar hidden beneath my shirt. “To be blunt, these lunch dates are usually the most relaxing part of my week. But lately…”
“They’re stressing you out.” It wasn’t a question, and he didn’t sound surprised.
“They’re…” I closed my eyes and exhaled. “I’m just so wound up I can barely concentrate on work, and I…” As much as I hated to think it, I kept circling back to it, so why keep fighting it? Nervous as hell and more than a little resigned, I finally managed to meet his gaze. “I really think we need to talk about this and look it in the eye and figure out what to do, because I can’t deal with the uncertainty anymore.” Fuck. The words were out, and now I was queasy. I was afraid of the solution to our problems, which was why I’d avoided the subject for so damn long.
And of course that was the exact moment the barista appeared by our table, plates in hand, and chirped, “One ham sandwich, and one chicken pesto panini.”
“Thanks,” we both said, and plastered on congenial expressions while she arranged the plates in front of us, and we kept those smiles in place until she’d left.
Alone again, we dropped the facades. I looked down at my food but didn’t touch it. I’d probably be taking it to go and eating it at my desk later.
Will took a couple of bites from his. There was a part of me that wanted to have a knee jerk response and resent him for still having an appetite, but I tamped it down. Odds were, he’d forgotten to eat breakfast again, and if he didn’t have something more substantial than coffee or iced tea before much longer, he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on this conversation, driving home, or—when he got there—his job. One of the many reasons we had these lunch dates was to get him away from his office and make sure he actually ate.
I managed to take a few bites of my own lunch just so he wouldn’t feel conspicuous eating while I turned green at the thought.
When he’d finished half his sandwich, he took a drink of his iced tea and studied me across the table, his features still calm. “Are you sure you’re ready to talk about it?”
I swallowed the bite I’d been chewing, which suddenly didn’t want to go down. After a sip of coffee, I said, “No, but it’s killing me. Because I’m really afraid of what we’re going to have to do to fix it.”
Will’s eyebrows rose slowly, the first signs of alarm creeping into his expression. “What do you think we’re going to have to do?”
I held his gaze. He held mine.
Then he took my hand and clasped it firmly. “Aaron. I’m not going anywhere unless you want me to.”
“No!” I returned his tight grip. “That’s the last thing I want.”
“Me too.” The soothing tone of his voice should have calmed me down, but it just made me that much more aware of how much I stood to lose. Still holding my hand and my gaze, he quietly said, “Nobody’s leaving, okay? I love you. You’re my partner, my best friend, and my submissive. I’m not going anywhere.” He squeezed my hand. “All we need to do is find a solution that means we’re both getting what we need.”
“That sounds easier said than done.”
“I know,” he said with a hint of resignation. “And I’m not sure what we can do. But splitting up isn’t on the table as far as I’m concerned.” He tilted his head. “Answer me this—if we can’t find a solution, and I can’t give you the pain you need to be satisfied, would you still want to stay married to me?”
“Yes!” No hesitation. No question. “Of course.”
“Then we’re on the same page.” He smiled uneasily. “I don’t know what the answer is, but I know it’s not one of us leaving.”
I closed my eyes and pushed out a breath. I knew deep down that it didn’t always work that way. It was easy to say we were in it no matter what, that it wasn’t a deal-breaker if things in the bedroom weren’t a hundred percent perfect,