Love and other contractual obligations

Chapter 4: Seeking third-party counsel

He knew he was in trouble when Rei started taking his advice a little too literally and debuted Nephrite at the mansion.

You are perfectly within your rights to seek companionship— he was so fucking full of shit.

The man was taller than him, clean-shaven with long hair secured in a tail, and wearing faded lumberjack flannel in the most irritatingly ironic sense. He didn't notice at the restaurant but the brunet was a fairly symmetrical bloke. He had been more occupied with his wife's exposed stretch of leg at the time, as well as that cheeky smile she saved for people other than him.

He wasn't about to question his healthy self-esteem over this… was he? It was all very… disheartening.

Nephrite had an open, honest face, a wide smirk that stretched to the corners of his eyes, and a firm handshake. He certainly didn't act like someone who was fooling around with his host's wife. Then again, he and Rei appeared to exist in a perfectly affectionate marriage, going by outward appearances, so what the hell did he know.

And on that subject, why the hell did he care? Here he was lingering in his home office, opting for video conferences rather than jetting off to Warsaw, and loitering on the sun-soaked patios and conservatories… for what? His wife was a shrewd woman. If she had taken up with the flannel hipster-man or anyone else, it wasn't as if she was going to wander about the house in flagrante delicto. She did walk into the living room a few days ago, stopping stock still at the sight of him dressed in a shirt, tie and pyjama joggers, sipping an espresso in preparation for an online conference. The look on her face had been priceless.

He was becoming obsessed. This woman who evidently despised their union had within the span of two or three weeks let him (almost) disrobe her, and recited his own fucking contract to him verbatim. Just the stuff on extramarital affairs, anyway. In his office, her eyes had been wide and dark as she stared up at him, and he was fairly certain it had nothing to do with the low light. But a man of his ego seems rather incapable of using that information in any productive way. Typical. He basically told her to take that contract and go fuck another man with it.

No Brandon breeding, his mentor had promised him. Yes, just more brains and sex appeal than he and his self-imposed celibacy had ever expected to wrangle.

Jadeite closed his eyes tightly. He did not know what to do with himself. In his dreams, she lets the dress drop to the ground. On the balcony, in his office, in his room. It was distracting. In his dreams, he parts the open edges of the dress, and she would be naked underneath. And then naked underneath him, those imploring dark eyes watching him.

He shut his folio in disgust. A true slave to testosterone, the old boy was; clearly he wasn't going to be getting any work done today. He readjusted his erection, then had a sudden cheeky thought about taking care of it here and now. She would probably be unimpressed to learn that he'd jacked off in the conservatory, but it was always highly entertaining to see her shocked and/or pissed off face. She had this tendency to flush red at the tops of her cheeks and her hair would stand on end as if she had been brushed against the grain. He smirked as he gave his insistent length a quick rub, without much intention. It was good to know he was still young.

His amusement was short-lived, however.

He had almost forgotten the flannel-wearing suitor until he saw him out the conservatory window, emerging from her side of the house. His long brown hair had been tied back wet like he was fresh out of the shower. Jadeite stared. Unlike his darling wife, his poker face was well in order, but his imagination ran unfortunately rampant under his calm façade.

They were fucking. They had to be. Is that why she was flaunting him left and right? It wasn't a coincidence. And where was she now? He imagined her on her belly in her rumpled sheets, stretched out like a well-satisfied cat. That sleek body and small breasts, face turned over her shoulder as she lifted her loose hair away from her long neck. He had never before been so angry and aroused in a single moment.

Unseen from his spot in the glorified glass house, he watched with barely veiled hostility as the tall man loaded his bags and folded himself into his truck.

He knew he was being completely irrational – he really did. But irrationality by definition did preclude the sort of ordered thinking required to act calmly and maturely in a situation such as this. And as his wife liked to remind him, maturity had never been one of his virtues.

So when Rei emerged in the lounge about an hour later, her hair also tied back wet and eyes sleepily half-lidded, Jadeite tried valiantly to rein his temper. "Entertaining guests, are we. Giving the man a private tour?"

She stared at him for a beat, coffee mug in hand. "All the plans for the gala are in the files, if you're so interested in Nephrite's work." His name rolled so easily off her tongue, that the tight clench of jealousy had him catching for breath.

"It's so original, sleeping with the help," he threw at her sarcastically. "Not that I give any shits what you are or are not doing." He sounded so compelling, he was pretty sure he even had himself convinced.

She blinked. He couldn't believe she had the audacity to look so perfectly innocent.

"What are you talking about? He's not—" she suddenly broke off, and her lips pressed into a tiny smile, "You think we're—"

Yes, I know you're—

"You just can't help yourself, can you," he interrupted with a snarl. "You and your boy toy don't give a shit about following the rules."

"Well, since your mind is made up," she intoned icily, folding her arms, her mouth a hard thin line, "Far be it for me to convince you otherwise. So what if we are fucking? What's it to you, oh Mister Lancaster, sir!" She rolled her eyes as her voice took on that mocking quality, the high-pitched breathy gasp she'd probably heard his society women use.

He stared at her stonily, his jaw clenched. I'm only your husband— he knew that retort wasn't going to fly. They had an understanding, and he'd kept his distance. But she was the one who broke the equilibrium, and now he couldn't go back. He wanted her soft body and sharp wit in his bed. He wanted no one else to touch her.

Too late.

She continued as his mind raced. "Don't worry, I won't embarrass you. Your plastic gold-diggers are perfectly capable of that without any help from me, thanks."

He had a wild thought. Fuck his carefully constructed devil-may-care womaniser image – he was going to tell her the truth. He couldn't go on like this any more, scrutinising every one of her men as a reflection of his own inadequacies. He caught Rei's narrowed eyes, inhaling shakily. "Listen, the third-party clause, I never—"

But she was done with the topic altogether. "Save it. I'm not listening to this hypocritical bullshit from you of all people." She snatched up her laptop and started to stalk back up the stairs. "Go bother what's-her-face – the blonde one with the pretentious name. And get off your moral high horse – it really doesn't suit you!"

Moral high horse? His figurative jaw dropped. He wasn't the one having sweaty marathon sex in the middle of the day with a hipster flannel-clad employee while the husband languished downstairs.

"And stay the fuck out of my business!" her voice bounced down along the balustrades.

And here he was, on the verge of coming clean, and about to impulsively suggest that maybe – just maybe – the two of them were attracted to each other. He had lost his objectivity, and evidently his mind too.

"Fine, you asked for it!" He'd made enough concessions. In a sudden burst of anger, he pulled out his phone. He knew she was still within earshot. Everything had a tendency to reverberate in this part of the house. "I'll give you moral high horse." He scrolled blindly through his contact list, and called the first number that wasn't a business relationship. Estelle.

"Hi babe, I changed my mind."

It was a bit too cliché to stomp off and slam a distant door, so Rei settled with flattening herself out of sight in the long corridor after the staircase. Her heart pounded in her ears.

There had been more talking – rather, hurling accusations at one another – in the last three weeks than in the past twelve months of their co-habitation. They were running into each other despite their separate wings of the house and vastly different schedules. She was finding him half-dressed in the living room, or napping on the covered patio. Was she deliberately trying to run into him? And how exactly did that start again? Was it when he came to her room, or when she asked him to untangle her hair? Rei curled her arms around the chassis of her laptop, and let her head fall back against the wall.

Damn it, but she had strict rules against this type of man for a reason. The kind of man with boyishly tousled hair and a smile that had you believing that you were the only person in the world. They either drive you crazy, or make you drive yourself crazy.

She had been very petty today, petty enough to let him draw whatever conclusions he wanted with the information at hand. It had taken at least two showers to get the paint out of her hair, the paint Nephrite had been so kind to drop over the both of them, and if Husband-dearest was going to interpret a shower in the middle of the day to mean something entirely different, that was his own goddamn problem. The hard edge of jealousy in his words had been supremely satisfying for about all of two minutes.

And now she could hear his low voice downstairs on the phone, probably making plans for the night. With Estelle. Bare Spine-girl. Whoever.

It was like a bucket of cold water.

"I have plans too," she whispered. She clutched tightly at her laptop as she turned back down the corridor and toed open the door to her room.

This isn't you, Rei.

Playing mind games, making seductively meaningful eye contact, stick-and-carrot shit, this wasn't her. She was the candid one, no frills, exactly as described on the box. She didn't drop handkerchiefs or play hard-to-get.

She barely recognised herself any more.

"Mako," she dug out her phone and called the number she'd had memorised since high school. "I need to get drunk—" she raked the elastic out of her damp hair and threw open her closet door "—as soon as possible, if you don't mind."

Makoto was definitely one of her best friends for a reason.

The woman had the tolerance of a horse. And the patience of a priest. Here they were at a discreet little cocktail bar, dressed up enough to attract some conspicuous attention, and all she could do was whinge.

Makoto Kino had been a competitive figure skater before a sudden late growth spurt messed with her technique enough to knock her into early retirement. But even a decade later, she was built sturdy and statuesque, all long limbs that she now held with an easy grace. And not to mention a rack that Rei could only dream of.

"So you asked him to… unzip your dress?" The mirth was evident in her voice as she sipped her drink. "It doesn't sound like you are avoiding him at all."

Rei glared at her over her whisky glass. "I lost my mind for about a minute, okay?" She chugged it and relished its slow burn down to her belly. "So how's it going with you and Nephrite?"

"No no no," Mako waggled her finger at her in chastisement. "You are not allowed to change the topic. Spill, you little temptress."

The bartender finally caught her pointed look and quickly poured her another two fingers, which she cradled gratefully. "It was hormones. Or… loneliness. I don't know." It was getting easier to articulate. "He was off having his fun, and I was alone out of principle. All dressed up and no one to undress for. It just didn't make sense."

"The only thing that doesn't make sense is that you told me you hated him." Mako bumped her knee accusingly.

She was fully aware of how pathetic she was being, but she knocked back the whisky and let it out anyway. "I don't. Not really. Not like when we were first married. He's got nice arms."

"Urgh." Mako rolled her eyes. "You're being so vague, and I don't like it."

"Speaking of nice arms, do you know who else has nice arms?"

The brunette coloured at the top of her cheeks. "You're changing the topic again," she muttered, but with much less conviction than before.

"Hey, if you hear a rumour that I'm sleeping with your gorgeous man, just know that it's all fake, okay?" Alcohol definitely made her chatty. "I let it be… implied… that he was sexing me, and Jadeite got super jealous."

After grimacing at the vivid visual, Mako frowned in consternation. "You hate those games," she said slowly. "Those stupid 'tests' to prove if he gives a shit or not. What's got into you!"

"Yeah, so the next step after that happened was to get roaring drunk." Rei eyed the ice cube floating around in the amber liquid. What's the point of being rich if one didn't occasionally spend it getting trashed on 18-year-old Bowmore's?

"Oh sweetie." She patted her sympathetically. "You poor kids. At least you know he isn't indifferent to you."

"He's such a hypocrite."

"I still can't believe you're married to him. This is like a really bad soap opera."

"Yes and yes." Her life was a bad soap opera. She grumbled when Mako refused another whisky on her behalf and clunked a tall glass of water in front of her instead. "Kill joy."

"I'm so invested in this now. You want him, he wants you— Just sleep with him and get it out of your system!"

"Not going to happen. My dad—"

Mako clucked, "Yes I know, your dad is a manipulative bastard. But look who is miserable now." She popped a pretzel between her lips. "Certainly not him. The old fuck is dead."

Rei forced down half of the water. "Is not fair," she mumbled. Her fingers were tingling in the most intriguing way.

"And I know you're not interested in dating someone else."

She shrugged, "I can't divorce. So it would be pointless."

"You don't have to marry them. Just do it for the sex."

Rei was silent for a moment. It certainly would be nice to get laid now and again. She imagined again his large hands gripping her wrists over her head, pinning her under him, his blond head mouthing a path down the length of her neck, her chest, the curve of her hip, his long fingers spanning her thigh— She pressed the cool glass to her burning cheek and groaned.

She didn't want anyone else.

This wasn't lost on Mako, who whistled long and deep. "Girl, you have it bad." She hauled Rei feebly protesting to her feet. "Let's get you home."

"I don't know what to do!" How could she possibly go back and face him now? "He's probably with his latest gold-digger as we speak."

"You don't know she's a gold-digger," the brunette tutted, bundling her into a waiting taxi. "And he is perfectly within his rights to have company. Just like you are," she added pointedly.

The implication was not lost on her to act a little more maturely. There were plenty of solutions, just none she was currently prepared to pursue, and she told Mako so, in not so many words.

"I have to say, you did make this so much more complicated than it needed to be," she sighed in response. "You overthinker."

"It made sense at the time," Rei protested. She stared out the window at the passing neon lights with her chin in her hand. It made sense. He got jealous. So where did I go wrong?

She thought of him in his office, sitting in his leather chair backlit by orange dusk. His eyes were dark and penetrating as she recited that clause from memory. He came cautiously close to her, and when his gaze fell to her lips, she had the crazy thought that he was going to kiss her. Why didn't he? Why didn't he?

Was he a soft kisser, gentle and considerate, or rough and consuming, gripping her and sweeping her off her feet? She pressed her lips to her palm, imagining and re-imagining that night. The flashing lights were starting to hurt her head, and she closed her eyes. Next time, she would let him and she will find out, her drunken brain promised herself. She sighed, and tried to ignore that niggling voice in her head – if you haven't driven him away for good, that is.

Author's note

Fellow overthinkers, here's hoping Rei's internal dialogue strikes a chord.

I've certainly put myself through her trains of thought before. Share your pain in the reviews!

xx