him that much angrier. And, after all, it was just her shin.
Instead, she sighed and sank back into her pillows. What else was there to say? One month into this sham marriage, and she was already weary, explaining away every perceived slight Calvin had. “What are you wearing?” he asked suddenly. “It’s a damn rag.”
Without waiting for her to respond, he pulled the comforter down, baring Nina’s thin white nightdress to her knees. She resisted the urge to press her hands over her chest. The material wasn’t sheer, but somehow, she still felt naked under Calvin’s roving gaze.
“Two weeks away, and you swell up like a balloon,” he said. “Just look at you. How is having a trophy wife going to help me secure investments if she’s nothing worth showing off?”
Nina followed his gaze to her stomach and set her hand over her navel, trying not to let the words sting. At just over four months along, the small bump was clearly evident, as were the changes in her breasts, which were double their usual size. She felt swollen and ripe, like a peach that could bruise with the lightest touch. And maybe, if it were with anyone else, she might have actually enjoyed it. If it were Peppe sitting beside her, she would have already pulled him down to explore these new sensitivities.
But the prospect with Calvin only made the nausea return.
“You’re still kind of pretty, you know.” His voice had changed, a ragged attempt at a purr instead of a snap. The hand on her shin rose and began to float up her leg, over her body.
Goose bumps rose up and down Nina’s arms.
“That hair. This skin.” His finger ran over Nina’s shoulder and toyed with the strap of her chemise.
Wait. No. This was wrong. It wasn’t what they had agreed to.
Friends, Calvin had said just days before they entered the church. We’ll live as friends, I promise.
“Calvin,” Nina ventured as his hand pulled the strap down. “What are you doing?”
He leaned in close enough that she could smell the sweet and sour residue of a Bloody Mary on his breath. Someone had been out to brunch.
“They said no,” he said as he pulled the strap back up, then down again, hypnotized by its progress. “At breakfast today. At every fucking meeting I went to in Paris, London, Manchester, Edinburgh. No, no, no, no, no. They didn’t believe I was part of the family. I told you we should have had more press at the wedding.”
Nina didn’t respond. She happened to know that her grandmother had personally requested most local newspapers not cover their wedding, and Nina had not argued at all. While the rest of her family had traditionally enjoyed the benefits of Vanity Fair profiles, large Style section features in the Times, or at the very least, a mention in the Post, her marriage was not something she had wanted to publicize.
“And Celeste, of course, was conveniently unavailable every time I tried to call,” Calvin continued. “Everyone said they’d wait for you to make a move.” He grimaced, yanking on the strap now so that it dug into her skin. “Honestly, it’s just property, not interior design. You don’t know shit about this in the first place. But how am I supposed to become the next Trump when I’m handicapped by your idiotic trust limitations?”
Again, Nina stayed silent, fighting the urge to slap his hand away from her shoulder. This tone, this unreserved resentment was new. She honestly wasn’t sure what to make of it.
She had heard Calvin complain about his failed business ventures before. Just as she knew of his plans to replicate what honestly sounded like a slumlord model of purchasing decrepit properties around New York and raising the rents until the poor tenants could be evicted. She didn’t know much about real estate, but it didn’t sound like a very nice way to make money.
She also knew it wasn’t working for him.
“In a month, though—maybe less—you’ll look like a cow,” he continued, still mesmerized by the strap pinched between his thick fingers. “No one will want to fuck you, and that’s half the charm, isn’t it? So I should probably take advantage of it now, don’t you think?”
He pulled the strap far enough that the top of her nightdress began to fall with it, baring some of her new décolletage.
A sinking feeling grew in Nina’s stomach. “I’m sorry. Wh-what do you mean?”
“Women always do that. Apologize for things when they aren’t the slightest