“How did you learn English?”
His fingers continued to move. “English is a requirement in French education.”
“I wish French were a requirement in American education.” Then I could understand what he said in bed, could understand what he said when he spoke to other people around me.
“I could teach you.”
“Yeah?”
“Or have Gilbert do it.”
I released a loud sigh. “No, not Gilbert.” Even after I covered for him, he refused to speak to me. He continued his tirade of hatred. Sometimes people liked you no matter what you did. Sometimes people hated you no matter what you did. He fell into the second category.
Fender read between the lines, listened to words that were never spoken. “He doesn’t hate you.”
“He totally hates me. It’s fine.”
“You’re the woman of this house. If he treats you as anything less, I will remind him that he works for you as much as he works for me.” He turned his chin to look down at me, his fingers continuing to run through my hair.
“I said it’s fine. Leave it alone.”
“Why?” His voice deepened. “You think I’d allow anyone to disrespect you? Let alone in my own goddamn house—”
“It’s fine because…I know why he hates me.”
His fingers stopped moving. “Why, chérie? Tell me why anyone would hate a woman such as you? Beautiful like my rose garden, soft like its petals, quiet like the opening of the flowers in spring.”
It was such a beautiful description that I faltered before I replied. It didn’t seem like something a man like Fender would say, dark, rugged, marching through the snow in a bomber jacket with murder in his eyes. It only reinforced what I believed—that he was more than what he seemed.
I propped myself up on my elbow so I could face him, my hand planted against his muscled rib cage for balance. “Because he’s in love with you.”
Fender had no reaction. His eyes remained on mine, not blinking or moving.
“Did you…already know that?”
The silence continued.
I dropped my gaze and let the subject fade.
“Yes.”
My eyes shifted back to his. “How long?”
“Years.”
“Does that bother you?” I whispered.
He gave a subtle shake of his head. “As long as he does his job, doesn’t matter to me.”
“Am I the only woman to ever live with you?” I already suspected the answer, because Gilbert hated me for a reason, and that reason must be because I was special. I was different from the others.
“Yes.”
My finger traced the lines between his segmented muscles absent-mindedly, my eyes shifting down to watch my movements. I didn’t think about the other women who had been in his life because I didn’t want to. I had no idea what kind of love life he had, if he’d had relationships, been married, just one-night stands; I really had no idea. I just knew he’d had a lot of sex—because he was good at it. “Can I ask you something personal? Or will you—”
“You can ask me anything, chérie.”
My eyes lifted to meet his again, my finger halting. He gave me everything I wanted when he let go of my indiscretion. It felt like a relationship, husband and wife without marriage, the two of us together in passion and commitment. I couldn’t lie to myself and pretend it wasn’t the best relationship I’d ever had, even though it was wrong. “Do you have relationships like ours or…?”
“I’ve never taken a woman from the camp. I’ve never fucked a woman at the camp. I’ve never wanted a woman the way I want you, never been committed or monogamous. I’ve never had a woman the way I’ve had you, with nothing between us except each other. The women I occupy myself with are whores or socialites. But they feel the same to me, and the only difference is I pay for one and not the other.”
My eyes dropped once again, looking at where my finger lay between two groups of muscle. His promiscuity was satisfied with a single woman—me. And I didn’t see how I’d earned that. He was the one who was the fantastic lover. All I had to do was let him have me. “I understand why he hates me, then…”
After I fell asleep, he carried me to my bedroom and placed me on the mattress. When he pulled the sheets and duvet on top of me, it woke me up, because the cotton was cold, not warm like his body.
I opened my eyes and looked at him over me.
He stilled as he looked at me. His eyes shifted back and forth before he leaned down and kissed me on the mouth. “Goodnight, chérie.”
Before he could pull away, I grabbed his forearm. “Stay with me.” I didn’t want to stay in this cold room alone. I wanted to be in his bedroom, with the fire slowly dying down, with his immense size heating the sheets throughout the night. I wanted his big arms around me, acting as a cage that kept me enclosed in his safety.