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Her husband knows something is going on with his wife Elizabeth. And she knows he knows and doesn’t care.
The man across the room is casting a spell on her. She makes eye contact with him again and again. Through the happy cacophony of the wedding reception they lock in. The night before he bought her a shot of whiskey after the rehearsal dinner when she’d sat down at the bar. He stood by her, told a brief story, then slapped his hands on the bar, smiled and left.
He makes his way through the circular white clothed tables filled with empty champagne glasses and half eaten pieces of wedding cake. He stands next to her but avoids her gaze. He slips her a note. Her husband doesn’t notice the note but notices the man. It’s the man he saw sitting next to wife at the bar last night.
“What’s happening?” He asks but his wife doesn’t respond.
The wedding reception reaches its peak. The wash lights are a bright purple, the headlights flicker in synch with the pulsing music. Dancers raise their hands in the air, their hips swing in wide crazy circles.
“What did he want?” her husband asks her, surprising her, clutching her arm and turning her towards him.
“Nothing,” she says loudly above the music. She squeezes the note in her fist.
Her husband lets go. She walks away. She wants him to leave her alone so she can be alone with the note.
This is their problem. He clings, at times. He drapes himself around her to quiet his insecurities mistaking his attention for love.
She unfolds the note again and reads it again.
“2nd Floor. East spa bathroom. Asap.”
She takes a deep breath. She tries on a “no,” as if she were tempted by diamond bracelet. “No way,” she says to herself repeating it three times, building a wall. She shakes her shoulders. Maybe she should dance, roll her hips to the beat, release herself.
“No way,” she says again. “I’m not going there.”
But the brazen quality of the note causes her to unfold it and read it again. She’s under a spell.
“What are you looking at?” her husband asked. She sighs whipping the note out of sight. “Uhm…my wedding toast…I wrote it out.”
Damn his clinging. She needs air and space. “I’m going to step outside.”
Her follows her. They stand silent together, both relieved to be away from the loud music.
He follows her back inside.
“I need to use the restroom,” she says. “There’s one just up these stairs. I’ll meet you back in the ballroom.”
“No, I’ll come with you. I don’t want to go back alone.”
“No.”
“Yes. I’ll wait outside the bathroom for you.”
She disappears into the restroom. He is there. She moves to him and they kiss. They kiss deeply. He leads her through another door to the hotel spa and a private massage room. They kiss again. She hoists up her long dress and takes down her panties. He undoes his pants. He is strong, hard. He lifts her onto him and she wraps her legs around his buttocks. He pummels her. She thrusts right back. Their power is magnificent, defiant. He explodes. She cries, “Oh man!” It is over in minutes.
She scoops up her panties from the floor and slides them into her purse and hurries back through the maze of doors, back and out the restroom door where she’d left her husband.
He is still there, waiting.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes,” she says, “I wanted to fix my makeup.
“Not your hair though?” He asks. She hears suspicion.
They sit together. Friends and family stop to chat or say goodbye. The man’s cum leaks onto her thigh. The music loses its momentum. The DJ spins slower tempos. People sway. There is confetti on the dance floor. The lights are dark blue and gold.
She looks up. There he stands. Her lover. Her man. He is at their table standing between her and her husband. She closes her legs and blushes with a fury avoiding his eye contact. She struggles with a steadily rising shame for what she’s done, but his presence distracts her. He is all man.
“May I dance with your wife?” he says to her husband while gazing directly at her. She watches her husband’s face grow pale. He knows. She is sure he knows. She wants him to know,. She wants him to see in her face that another man just ravished her.
“Your wife looks so lovely, I’ve been admiring her all night.”
Her husband makes a sunken gesture with his right arm towards the dance floor.
“Would you like to dance …?” he asks turning now to her. She meets his gaze and stands.
“Elizabeth, my name is Elizabeth.”
“Would you like to dance with me Elizabeth? I’m Gregory.”
“Yes, yes, please. Gregory.”
He takes her hand.
Her husband watches without taking his eyes off of them, noting how at one point his wife turns her face up to Gregory’s and seems to whisper.
“How much does your husband know,” Gregory asks her.
“He knows. He’s known ever since we were married years ago that this would happen. He can’t bring himself to accept it. He loves to suffer for me. It’s who he is.
“Will you tell him?” he asked.
“No. he’ll need to catch me.”
“We could make that happen,” Gregory said.
“I’d like that,” she says feeling his desire grow as she moves her hips against his pulling him closer to her.
He kisses her deeply. Their tongues mingle. She is flush. The kiss undoes her shame. She is free. She feels this in her belly.
When he breaks the kiss she takes his face in her hands and kisses him again.
“Now he knows,” she whispers.
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