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Marcus

“Good morning, beautiful.”

Marcus brushed the hair away from his sleeping wife’s face. She stirred at his touch, but not enough to wake, giving him a moment to admire her beauty.

Growing up in the pageant circle, Sophie was an expert at making herself look good. From the way she styled her hair and the clothes she wore; she knew exactly how to accentuate her features to make sure all eyes were on her.

Moments like this, where she lay so perfectly still in slumber, Marcus had to ask himself how he had got so lucky. Why had she chosen him when she could have anyone? He knew as well as she did—she had settled.

“Sweetheart? Breakfast is getting cold.”

She made a soft noise as her arms came out from under the duvet, stretching above her head. Her back arched off the bed, exposing her chest to his eager gaze.

“And here I thought it was your birthday,” he teased, trailing his fingers down her arm. “Happy birthday, Sophie.”

She sat up, resting against the headboard, as blue eyes finally met his. “What time is it? It’s still dark out.”

“Five thirty,” he replied, pushing the breakfast tray towards her. “I figured I’d wake you a little early to celebrate your birthday before work.”

“Why is there bread on the tray, Marcus?”

Ignoring her disgruntled tone and giving her the grace of having early morning blues, he rolled his eyes. “The toast is mine. You think, after all this time, I can’t make you breakfast correctly?”

“I suppose you have a point,” she said, poking at the egg-white omelette with her fork .

Once upon a time, her actions might have annoyed him. After all, his mother had raised him to appreciate the thoughtful actions of others. But they had been together for over four years now, married for one. Marcus had used that time to learn all Sophie’s oddities and how to navigate them.

He’d long given up trying to teach her about a real healthy diet, but Sophie was sure that carbs were the devil. She believed that one piece of bread would leave her bloated and ten pounds heavier.

And God forbid, something about her appearance changed.

It didn’t matter how many compliments he showered her with; she was resolute in her no-carb rule. He now embraced her guidelines and did his best to cater to her needs.

“Did you get me a gift, then?” she asked, taking a single bite of the omelette before pushing the plate away. “Birthdays mean gifts.”

“You don’t consider breakfast in bed a gift?” He raised an eyebrow. Something about the way Sophie looked at him in that moment made his hair stand on end. But he couldn’t figure out why.

One thing was certain, however, breakfast in bed was not a gift.

When receiving tokens of love, Sophie did not enjoy acts of kindness. She wanted something she could show off to others, so she could bask in their admiration. Something sparkly and pretty, with a hefty price tag to boot.

He reached over to his bedside table, leaving his toast on his pillow. He rummaged for the jewellery box he had hidden there. Suddenly nervous, he handed over the box, the intricate gold pattern set into the blue velvet immediately giving away the price range he’d spent.

For a woman who took so much pride in her appearance, Sophie was up to date with whom sold what and for how much. When you wanted to wear designer clothes on a high-street budget, it paid to know who had the best bargains.

“Is it the silver and emerald ring?” she asked, reaching for the box with excitement. “Or the diamond earrings I pointed out?”

Marcus chuckled, relaxing with her enthusiasm. “Why don’t you open it and stop guessing?”

With a squeal, Sophie opened the lid, the light from her eyes dimming as she looked over the contents. “Oh. Oh, well, these are beautiful, Marcus.”

“Do you recognise them?” he asked, clearing his throat. He hadn’t missed that look of disappointment on her face. He just hoped that once the penny dropped, she would fall in love with the gift the way he imagined she would.

“I’m not sure,” she admitted, her fingers tracing the chain that held the teardrop opal. “It looks familiar.”

“It’s your grandmother’s set,” he said, shifting his weight. “You kept saying how it was a shame they got damaged. So, I asked the jeweller to fix them up and add your birthstone.”

“Ah. That explains the opal,” Sophie said, looking up at him with a small smile. “This was such a thoughtful gift, Marcus. Thank you.”

“And you’re sure you like them?”

He glanced down at the matching earring and necklace set. He’d paid more than he could afford to have the damn thing repaired, and he’d hate to see his efforts go to waste.

Sophie didn’t have too many nice things to say about her childhood. Too many years of strict regimes and no friends had left her with a bucket of lonely memories. Her grandmother represented the one constant source of happiness in her youth. He had hoped her jewellery would bring her those same positive feelings.

“How could I not like them?” she said, leaning towards him to kiss him lightly. “Thank you, Marcus.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” He smiled against her lips, pulling her in for a longer and more lingering kiss. “I love you.”

“You too.” She pulled back and offered him a smile. “Now, I should get ready for work.”

He glanced at the bedside table and frowned. “It’s not even six yet. You’ve got time. ”

“Yeah, but now that I’m up, a nice long soak in the tub sounds amazing.”

“We could share a shower,” he replied, somehow already knowing the answer. Right on cue, her nose scrunched up as she made an almost sympathetic sound.

“Sorry, hon. Maybe tonight, yeah?”

“Sure thing, Soph.” He held back a sigh and forced a smile. “Enjoy your bath.”

“You wouldn’t mind cleaning all this up, would you?” She asked, clicking her fingers at their discarded meal. “I am the birthday girl, after all.” She jumped out of bed, giving him a finger wave. Leaving him to his thoughts, she left the room.

How long was a normal dry spell between couples?

He felt like he had been trying to initiate some intimacy with Sophie for months now, to no avail. It wasn’t even about sex anymore. He just wanted to be with his wife and enjoy affection beyond quick pecks.

They were only four months into their second year of marriage. Surely this wasn’t normal?

He wasn’t a horndog that demanded sex all the time. Hell, who had the time these days, anyway? But once or twice a week didn’t seem like too much to ask. He’d even take once or twice a month at this point.

But of course, Sophie insisted there was nothing wrong. They were both busy people and a lull was normal. Whenever he tried to communicate his needs to her, she berated him as a sex pest and made him feel so gross that he’d give up as soon as he began.

With a sigh, he gathered their plates, left mostly untouched, and padded through the flat to the kitchen.

He was still cleaning when Sophie reappeared, wearing only a towel as she searched the laundry pile for some clothes.

“Did you wash my blouse, babe?” She asked, throwing clothes across the room.

“It was your turn for laundry,” he reminded her. “Your blouse is probably still on the dirty pile.”

“Well, what am I supposed to wear now?” Her voice shrill, she turned to him, hands on her hips, ever petulant. Moments like this reminded Marcus what a young twenty-five-year-old she was.

While other women her age would find something else to wear, Sophie was on the edge of a breakdown.

Another product of her youth.

With that sobering thought, he replaced the dish towel on the rack and moved towards her, pulling her into his arms.

“Wear whatever you want, baby. You’ll knock their socks off, regardless.”

“Do you mean that?”

How could he not? She could wear a bin bag and look good. “Of course I mean it. Now go back to the bedroom and look in that wardrobe of yours. You’ll find something you forgot about and turn it into your new favourite work outfit.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” she said, offering her first genuine smile of the morning. “You always know the right thing to say, Marcus.”

She kissed his cheek before heading back down to their bedroom.

Knowing she’d forget, he tackled the laundry pile, ignoring the nasty voice in his head that chipped away at his confidence.

You’re such a fucking doormat.

Boy, he sure felt like it sometimes. Almost every day, he had a similar thought that somehow Sophie was taking him for a ride. It didn’t escape him how much he did for her and how little he received in return.

Unfortunately for him, that was just the kind of man he was. His father had offered him a great example of a loving and supportive husband, and he aimed to be even half the man he was.

“Okay, hon. I’m heading out.”

As predicted, Sophie was a knockout in a deep red skirt and a pretty white blouse. She had the perfect mix of sexy and professional with her red heels and new jewellery.

“You’re wearing your gift!” That was surprising.

“Of course I am, silly!” She giggled and turned slowly for his approval. “So how do I look?”

“Incredible,” he replied honestly, casting an approving gaze over her. “Really fucking beautiful. ”

“Thanks, hon,” she said with a smile. “Okay, I gotta run! Kisses!”

With a flurry of activity, she was out of the door before he could take a couple of steps towards her.

Shaking his head, he grabbed his phone and opened his messaging service.

You rushed out without letting me reply. I hope you have a wonderful day, birthday girl. I love you.

He sent the message, reading it back to himself, as he heard a chime from his laptop. Chuckling, he shook his head and muttered to himself. “She’ll never learn.”

How many times had Sophie left herself signed into his devices? It was lucky he wasn’t a rival company. He suspected Sophie’s boss wouldn’t appreciate that.

Grabbing his laptop from the coffee table, he set himself up at his desk, ready to clock in for the day and work on some new scripts.

Sinking into his seat, he typed out another text, teasing her for her mistake.

You left yourself signed in again. Tell your boss it’s a coincidence that my business has the same model as his. Haha.

Oh, and Sophie? I know the necklace and earrings weren’t what you were expecting today. I wish I could have bought you everything you wanted, but hopefully soon the business will take off and I can buy you anything your heart desires.

To steal a phrase from a favourite show of mine – this time next year, we’ll be millionaires.

Thank you for your patience, always. I love you .

Right on cue, his laptop chimed and his message to Sophie flashed on the screen. Cancelling the notification, he glanced over the open page she had displayed.

Any amusement he felt quickly disappeared, his face losing all expression as he tried to make sense of what he was reading.

It was a message thread between Sophie and her boss. Not in itself concerning, especially given her recent promotion to Personal Assistant. But these were not the usual messages one would expect between two professionals.

He only caught snippets here and there, his eyes skimming the words that never seemed to end.

… sit on my cock as a reward…

… still haven’t slept with him…

… I only want you…

… Erica can’t find out…

Marcus sat back in his chair with a puff of air, the back of his throat stinging with emotion. Anger raged in his veins, followed by a profound sadness.

He didn’t know what to do other than sit there and stare at the screen.

At least now he knew why she wasn’t sleeping with him.

He’d worried about her gift, scrimping and saving every penny he had to buy her something special. And for what?

For her to spread her legs like a fucking whore.

Four years he’d never get back wasted on someone who clearly didn’t deserve his effort.

You’re a fucking doormat .

Oh, how obvious it seemed now. Even doormats didn’t get used as much as he obviously had been.

Fucking bitch!

Pushing back from his desk, Marcus stomped to the kitchen. The monitor’s glare lit his now empty chair. Grabbing a bottle of bourbon from his last birthday, he found his emergency pack of cigarettes, and took his seat again, hoping the words on the screen had somehow changed.

He poured himself a drink, knocking it back in two swallows. A second immediately followed the first. And then a third.

Only then was he ready to confront what those saved texts meant.

His wife was cheating on him. With her married boss, no less. They’d mentioned her name once or twice. His eyes scanned the text until he found what he was looking for.

Erica can’t find out. If she does, we’re over. Never forget, this is just sex.

She was cheating on him with this prick? A man who hid her away as though ashamed of her?

Way to kick a man when he’s down, Soph.

Scoffing, Marcus grabbed a pen and a sheet of paper. He lit a cigarette and took a long drag, ignoring the foul taste against his tongue. He’d get used to it again in no time.

With nothing else to do, he put pen to paper.

Dear Erica.

Growling, he scrunched the paper and tossed it over his shoulder. Preparing a fresh page, he took a breath and came up with nothing.

Fuck.

This was going to be harder than he thought.