Page 42 of Ceremony of Lust
“Did you cook bacon like that?” My eyes slowly scan his naked body.
He laughs loudly. “I wore an apron.”
We eat in comfortable, quiet silence until his gaze becomes far too heated and his kisses linger far too long. The carpet in front of the bed might be ruined, and we’ll definitely need to purchase another French press, but a second round of sex with my new husband is worth the disaster I have to clean up. And when he whispers filthy things in my ear about my body and how it feels wrapped around him, I explode.
For the next few days, this is our new normal. Breakfast in bed followed by toe-curling sex, but eventually, the real world creeps in, and Zev returns to work. While he’s gone for the day, I do my best to keep myself occupied, but in Ripley, women aren’t necessarily taught much beyond reading, writing, cooking, and cleaning. We aren’t expected to have jobs. Being a wife and mother is our only occupation.
I head out to the shops in town during the day, picking up ingredients for the elaborate dinners I plan out each night. I know my match was cause for gossip, and now that Zev and I are married, our names are still on the tongues of every nosy neighbor in town. Their eyes follow me everywhere I go, which means I persist in asking Zev to take me out into the city, and he keeps refusing. Eventually, I stop asking him because why keep chasing a dream that will never come true?
One afternoon, I find several pink bags sitting on the bed, waiting for me.
“Zev,” I call out, but he doesn’t answer. Cautiously, I approach the bed and peer into the first one. Nothing. The only thing I can see is the pink tissue paper. I take a step back and nibble at my thumbnail.
“They won’t bite.” The sound of Zev’s voice startles me.
“Jesus,” I cry out as I spin to face him. “What is all of this?”
“I brought the shopping to you. Only, you can’t return any of it. So, if you don’t like it, too bad because I like all of it.”
The first bag contains a few bras I wouldn’t necessarily describe as scandalous. They’re all various shades of pink, and I would have easily picked them for myself. Hidden underneath a layer of tissue paper are matching panties. The second bag is a little more risqué. Black bras that don’t look like they’ll hold much and tiny thongs. The third bag contains a few more sweet and dainty sets, and the last bag contains nothing more than scraps of fabric.
“You expect me to wear this?” I ask, holding up the garment. “I don’t even know what it is.”
“It’s a bra,” he says, taking the flimsy thing from me. The cups are see-through, and there are little slits in the middle. “I want you to wear this tonight.”
“Oh.” Any excitement I felt over Zev’s gifts is gone. Sex is my nightmare.
He walks toward me and places his hand under my chin. “Tell me what’s bothering you, Yael.”
I place one hand on my stomach. “We’ve had sex dozens of times already, yet I’m not pregnant.”
He sighs. “You shouldn’t worry about that. We’ve only been married for a month.”
“That’s easy for you to say, but you don’t know what it’s like going to the stores in town. No matter where I go, the eyes of every woman are on me, watching me, searching for signs of a baby.”
“You could be pregnant right now and not even know it.” I do know it, though. I took a test this morning. “And even if you were, it’s too soon to tell anyone.”
I narrow my gaze in his direction. “How do you know about this?”
He chuckles softly. “I have sisters, Yael. They all have children.”
My lack of knowledge brings up yet another frustration. There is so much about my own body I don’t know.
“Thank you for the gifts,” I say, but my words are hollow.
I start moving past Zev, but he stops me, lightly gripping my elbow. “Do you really want to have children that badly?”
“No, I don’t. I’m only eighteen. I’ve never even left Ripley. But I know what’s expected of me. I know what will happen to me if I don’t get pregnant.”
“What do you think will happen?”
“You’ll cast me aside. You’ll go to the Elders and ask for permission to divorce me.”
The hardness on his face softens, and he sits down on one of the ottomans in front of the bed. “That’s not what will happen. I won’t do any of that.”
“I want to believe you.”
He looks up at me sharply, his dark eyes burning with intensity. “Have I done something to make you believe otherwise? Do I seem like the type of man who would kick his wife out of her home for not getting pregnant?”