Sweet Filthy Boy

“I didn’t want to make you worry! I never expected you would have to meet her!”

I gape at him, my stomach plummeting. Finally, the truth. He simply hoped he wouldn’t have to deal. “You think that makes it okay? That you lied about her by omission? That because I would never meet her it would be okay?”

He’s already shaking his head. “That isn’t what I mean! We needed better roots,” he says, motioning between us frantically and closing his eyes as he struggles to find words. Even now my heart twists for him and how he seems to lose his ability to speak English fluently when he’s upset. He takes a deep breath, and when he opens his eyes and speaks again, his voice comes out steadier: “You and I were in a precarious place when you first came here. It was impulsive for both of us to do this. Work is a nightmare for me right now, but I wanted to make time for you. And then it became something more than fun and adventure with us. It was”—he pauses and his voice catches the tiniest bit—“it was real. We needed more time, just us. I didn’t want anything coming into this flat with us, especially not her.”

As soon as he says it, the words seem to echo back to him and his face falls a little.

“She lived here,” I remind him. “Even when you told me about Minuit, you didn’t say you lived together, that you were engaged, that you’d been together for so many years. That you had sex in that bed. If you had told me about her when I first got here—the full story—it wouldn’t even have been a problem. But tonight, the only person in that apartment who didn’t know what was going on was me, your wife.”

I turn, walking into the bedroom, planning to crawl into bed before remembering it’s the bed they got together, hoping maybe Perry would sleep better on it. I groan, turning around and walking right into Ansel’s broad chest.

When I try to push past him, he stops me, gripping my shoulders with shaking hands. “Please don’t walk away.”

I feel like a tornado is crashing around in my mind, but as usual, even though I’m so mad at him I could scream, the feel of his body so close and his hands sliding up my arms is so comforting, it starts to make order out of the chaos. His eyes soften and he blinks down to my mouth. “We need to keep talking about this.”

But when I try to speak, the words come out choked, stunted. “Y-y-y-y—” I close my eyes, trying again. “Y-y-y-y-you—”

Fuck!

I open my eyes, not sure what reaction I’ll see in his face because he’s really never heard me stutter and it hardly ever happens anymore.

His eyes are wide and his face contorted in pain as if he’s broken me. “Shit, Mia.”

“D-d-don’t.”

“Mia . . .” He groans, pressing his face to my neck.

I push him away, wanting pretty much anything other than his sympathy right now. The anger makes my words come out sharper, and with each one I deliver, my tongue relaxes. “Y-you were w-with her so long. I just . . . tonight I felt like the other woman, you know? For the first time yesterday, I felt like your wife. But tonight I felt like I’d stolen you from her.”

“No,” he says, relief washing over his expression as he pushes my hair off my face so he can kiss my cheek. “Of course we broke up before I met you.”

Fuck. I have to ask. “But how long before you left?”

His face falls and I feel like I can hear every second tick past as he hesitates to answer.

“Ansel.”

“A few days.”

My heart sinks and I close my eyes, unable to look at him. “She moved out while you were gone, didn’t she?”

Another hesitation. “Yes.”

“You broke up with your girlfriend of six years only a few days before you married me.”

“Well, technically we broke up three weeks before I met you. I’d been biking across the States before Vegas,” he reminds me. “But it felt like it ended a long time before that. We both knew it was over. She is clinging to something that doesn’t exist anymore.” He cups my cheek and waits until I look up at him. “I wasn’t looking for anything, Mia, but that’s why I trust what I feel for you. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever known.”

When I don’t say anything to this, he asks, “Can I tell you now? Everything?”

I don’t bother answering out loud. On the one hand, it seems a little late for a full disclosure. On the other, a sick part of me wants to know everything.

“Bike and Build started in May, and went through September,” he begins. “Finn, Olls, Perry, and I all became close within days of orientation. It was that kind of experience, okay, where everyone is thrown together and some friendships solidify, and others don’t? But ours, it did.”

He pauses, trailing his fingers down my arm.

“But it wasn’t an immediate affair with Perry and me, not sexual. She wanted it. At least, Oliver and Finn always insist that she wanted something with me from the first few days. I think I started to notice what they meant, maybe in July? And by August, I felt so much fondness and friendship for all of them that I would give her anything.” Pulling back so he can look at me in the dim light from the moon, he says, “Even sex. We only were lovers twice on that trip. A random night in August, when we were very drunk. And then, a few weeks later—after it had been so awkward and loaded with us—we were together on the last night before the excursion ended.”