Page 54 of Silent Ties

“The cupcakes are done,” I told him. “Do you want one?”

He clicks on something. “I’m not a sweets person.”

He’s said this before, but he ate a pastry yesterday. I suppose it makes sense, him being a savory type of dessert guy.

“Can I get you anything?”

“No.”

“Okay,” I say, but I refuse to be defeated.

I walk straight to my dresser, digging through it.

I change into a silk nightgown that barely covers my lacy panties. So I don’t appear obvious I wander to the kitchen, placing the cupcakes in some Tupperware and pile as many dishes as I can in the sink for Olga.

Only then do I softly tread back to the office. “I’m going to bed.”

Seeing as I’ve never announced this before he looks over. And soaks in every inch of my body.

He turns back to the computer. “Okay.”

Real smooth, Russet.

The one time I don’t want the king-size bed to myself is the only time my husband isn’t tempted.

This is fine. I need to reformulate, but Ican do this.

I’m staring up at the ceiling wondering what to do, when I spot his laptop on the end of the bed. If it’s synced up to his desktop it might just work.

I pull open a website and squeeze my eyes tight like a nervous teenager as I begin to type the word vibrator into the search bar.

Yep, lots of options. And the suggestions. . .

Max continues to type in the other room.

It’s either stupid or petty but all of a sudden the naughty shopping spree begins. Vibrators, butt plugs, lube, whatever that is that looks mildly dangerous, is added to the cart.

His card is attached to the account and I’m ready to press order when I pause. Do I really want to poke the bear?

Max’s grumpy sigh from the other room causes me to reconsider the shipping option. Why wait a couple of days when I could get this stuff now. We do live in the city that never sleeps after all.

“What’s the point of being rich,” I say to myself, though, I can’t stop an internal cringe at the price. I don’t care. I tap Order.

The laptop dings and I open it, despite not knowing how Max would react to my casual scrolling through his email.

Thanks for your order!

The typing dies down. He never comes to the bedroom, though, and I’m a dork waiting for my package.

When I hear a tell-tale ding, I leap from the bed. “It’s for me!”

One of the guards downstairs placed the awkwardly large box in the elevator for me.

“Thank you,” I chirp, knowing there’s a camera they watch.

I’m halfway across the living room when I hear, “Russet.”

I can count the number of times he’s used my full name. When we first met, on our wedding day. For some reason, whenhe talks to his dad, he only refers to me by my full name. And then of course there was the time he called me Russ when he fucked me on the kitchen floor.