The Trouble with Three Husbands (Daughters of Venus 1)

“I’ll talk to them,” I replied.

“Good luck with that.”

Bentley wouldn’t talk to me at all. That lasted for a good thirty minutes. His bad moods never lasted long. He tried to act like a tough country boy but his soft spot for me was just too deep. He’d been drilling screws into a sheet of drywall as I spoke. Finally, when I put my hand on his and pulled his finger from the drill trigger, he broke his silence.

“You know, babe, I’ve struggled a bit with this lifestyle. I was your first husband and I came up this mountain with you, with every intention of making you happy. Of worshiping you. I knew what I was getting into from the beginning but I guess I always believed you’d love me more than any other.”

“I…”

“Let me finish, please.”

I held a hand over my mouth and realized it was shaking. I was trembling and tears threatened to fall from my eyes. Bentley, for me, was the closest to my heart.

“I’ve changed a lot living here, being with you. You’ve changed a lot too. You’ve kind of grown into this leadership role. You know what you want now.”

“I do,” I said and the tears broke free.

He still wasn’t looking at me. His focus was on the drywall. All of the men in my life were turning their backs on me.

“And you want one more husband. You’re the Dove here. I’m a fellow. I get it. But I love you more than any man in this whole damned compound could ever love any woman.”

Finally, he turned to face me, with tear filled eyes.

I can’t stand to see a man cry. It breaks my heart. And Bentley had never cried in front of me. Never.

He took my hand in his.

“I will always be here for you,” he said. “Three husbands, four, five…it doesn’t matter. I just don’t understand. How many husbands do you need to have before you’re happy?”

I pulled away from him and fell back onto a wooden bench. I sobbed. I mean I really ugly cried with my face covered in my hands.

And Bentley met me on both knees, pulling me into his chest where I continued to sob. I didn’t have an answer for him and that hurt.

When I returned home and went to lie in my bed, I found Alejandro there, lying in my spot, his hands folded behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. He wore only his work cargo pants.

Not again. I’m not sure I can take another one of these heart to hearts.

“Yes, I’ve heard,” Alé said.

I was thankful he said the first word because I was tired of going right into the explaining thing.

“Can I tell you a story, mi amor?”

I sat down on the bed next to him and put my hand on his bare chest.

“Before I came up the mountain to work here, about two years before I met you, I was in love with a girl named Maribelle. My Mari. She was beautiful. We’d known each other since we were kids and we were planning to get married. I’d already asked her and she’d said yes.”

He’d never told me any of this before. I’d asked him about his past and he’d always said the same thing, “It was a dirty story, mi amor. Just like everyone else’s. It’s best left buried.”

And now he was unpacking those bones.

“We were moving to Michigan to be closer to her mother

when we stopped at a little restaurant to eat.”

He paused and bit his lip.

“I left her alone…for…two minutes maybe. That’s it. Just two minutes…”