He called my name a few times, but I stayed in bed, unmoving.
Drunkenly, he buried his head into my chest, coaxing, “Honey, I’m sorry. It was just a game with Lanie. I was the groomsman, she was the bridesmaid. I didn’t have a choice.”
Really? No choice? Because the look in his eyes during that kiss—the delight, the pride—was impossible to miss.
When I didn’t respond, he rubbed his head against my chest, trying to charm me. “Honey, forgive me, okay?”
In the past, his puppy-dog act would have melted my anger instantly. Now, the image of him and Melanie’s kiss made me feel sick.
I pushed him away and rolled to the far side of the bed.
Upon sensing my rejection, Steven’s playful demeanor turned to anger.
“Anya, I apologized already! What more do you want?” he snapped. “Everyone was just messing around at the wedding. You’re the only one taking it seriously! I’ve been running around all day. Can’t you stop with the tantrums?”
His voice grew harsher. “Why can’t you learn from Lanie? She’s so understanding! What’s your problem? And we’re married. What more do you want from me?”
