Chapter 1
Lucky Us
(Circa 2024)
Damn it's dark tonight, he thought stepping onto his front porch. It took multiple tries, but eventually he was able to get the key in the lock to open the front door, and then flipped on the foyer lights. The noise must have awoken her, because she was on her way down the steps in one of her La Perla nightgowns. Not one of the short sexy ones; the blue one he had seen in the drawer, but never on her. He noted how beautiful she looked. Staring at her long tan legs, he muttered, "I am one lucky man," and attempted to stand tall and appear sober.
"Hey, Sexy," he drawled as she approached him.
"Hey, yourself. Now turn and go," she stated with little emotion.
"Elena," he whined.
"You know the rule, John Ross—no one comes home drunk. I don't come home drunk, you don't come home drunk. It's that simple," she stated as she had time and again. Sliding her hand on to his back, she steered him back across the marble floor.
Glancing through the side light, she asked, "Where's your car?"
"I took a cab," he proudly answered.
Reaching into his pocket, she pulled out his cell phone and redialed the last number. "Hi. One of your drivers just dropped off someone at Southfork ranch. Please have them turn around and come back," she requested before putting the phone back in her husband's pocket.
"Just let me say goodnight to the kids," he said, taking a few steps toward the stairs.
"Lucky for them, they are sound asleep, so they don't have to see their father in this condition," she stated, stopping him in his tracks. "Isn't that why you made the rule in the first place? So our kids wouldn't have to witness what you…"
He rolled his eyes. "Yes, but…" he childishly protested.
"It's your rule. Don't get mad at me every time it comes back to bite you in the ass," she replied while opening up the front door.
She rubbed his back soothingly. "Go sleep it off at the condo and come home tomorrow, Babe," she gently advised, guiding him again to the door.
When he turned around, she put her arm up and boxed him in the doorway. He looked around at his house, then down at his wife. He still found her sexy, even when annoyed.
Maybe more so when annoyed, he mused. He studied her pretty face, gazed deep into those dark brown eyes of hers, and then the words just spilled out.
"You're sleeping with him again, aren't you?" he calmly asked.
She closed her eyes for a moment, gathering her thoughts before speaking. For the first time, her exasperation came through in her voice. "What are you? Sixteen? Get over it already. We were kids."
That smug grin of his, spread across his face. "I can always tell. You know I can."
Shaking her head, she dismissed his comment.
He took a few moments to glance about, taking in all he could from his limited vantage point: his black teak desk in the office, the hallway to the kitchen, the banister with the graceful curve. With a knowing smile, he nodded toward the top of the staircase.
"He's here, isn't he?" It was a statement more than a question.
"Paranoid, too? What were smoking along with that bottle of Balcones you put down?" she brusquely asked.
"Not paranoid, just observant," he confidently explained. He stared eerily at her to the point that she turned away and fixed her eyes on a silver vein in the floor. When she looked back up, he smirked at her.
"Is he in the guest room, or do you spread your legs for him in our bed?"
She slapped him hard across the mouth, but that smirk managed to stay on his lips. "The only one here is your cab driver. Now go," she told him, giving him a slight shove on to the front porch.
Elena walked back upstairs upset, angry and exhausted. How has it come to this? When did I become his caretaker and stop being his wife and lover? Where are we heading, and how is it all going to end? she wondered, as she had so many times before. After all these years, however, she still did not have the answers and was tired of trying to find them.
The soft silk sheets were calming to her as she laid back down with a heavy heart. She stared up at the ceiling in the very dimly lit bedroom.
"How did he know?" Christopher asked, sliding closer to her.
"I don't know, but he always does," she quietly answered.
Turning to face him, she ran her fingers through the grey hairs starting to show up at his temples, and continued. "It's odd because he only senses it when he's so drunk that he has blacked out."
He pulls her close, and she lays her head on his bare chest.
"Lucky for us, when he sobers up tomorrow, he won't even remember coming here," she explained sadly.
Stroking her hair, Christopher let out a heavy sigh. "Yeah, lucky us."
Copyright 2012 tbimh
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