Alone in a Marriage

Hayley Falcon stepped from her morning shower and grabbed a hot towel from the warming drawer. She dried off, turned and studied Shawn, who stood in black silk boxers at his sink. After twelve years of marriage, she still enjoyed watching him shave, still liked how his tanned face appeared afterward. Smooth, sleek, and sexy as hell.

Flushed with desire, she dropped the towel, sucked in her stomach, and extended her arms. “Shawn, honey, do you think I should tan?”

His once passionate eyes swept her body. “No.”

She sweetened the bait with a coy smile. “Would you like to mess around before work? We haven’t done that since—”

Shawn disappeared into his closet, not a word, not a nod—nothing.

No surprise. Hayley snatched the oversized towel from the floor, wrapped herself, and slogged into her dressing room. Releasing a breath of frustration, she put on a white lace thong and matching bra, then gathered a navy business suit from the color-ordered rack, heels, and a blouse. Hearing the television blaring in the bedroom, she raised her chin and went into her haven of taupe silk and nineteenth century American furniture.

His back to her, Shawn tucked in a blue dress shirt while he watched the shrill Savannah Morning newscaster. The damn television got more attention than she did.

Hayley dropped her clothing on the duvet, strutted past him, grabbed the remote, and muted the TV. She turned toward him, reached inside each bra cup, and adjusted her breasts. “Lunch today?”

“No time.” He wrapped his tie around his neck and tied the knot with quick motions.

Zero for two. She shook her head, brushed past him, and wiggled into her slim silk skirt. Lately, Shawn’s functional absence overshadowed his physical presence.

Emptiness settled like a rock into the pit of her stomach. Loneliness? Probably. Fear of failure? Most certainly.

She crossed the room and sat down at her antique British Colonial dressing table, a very generous wedding gift from her grandmother who had owned the table for most of her life. She ran her hands along its elegant edge and felt an immediate connection to Grandma.

Hayley extended her left arm toward the mirror. Over the years, the plastic surgeons had done a remarkable job with the scarring on her forearm. Not perfect, but as good as the best modern medicine could make it. Had her imperfections finally gotten to him? Was he turned off by her ugly limbs? Had he found someone else, someone young and perky, someone with perfect skin?

She let out a deep breath, applied burn cream to the mottled tissue and did the same to the scars on her right arm. She wished she could soothe the painful memories of the accident as easily.

Looking in the mirror, she flexed her lips. Smooth lips.

Shiny blonde hair. She eased the hair back from her eyes. No crow’s feet. She tightened her abdomen, squared her shoulders, and studied her torso.

Trim waist. Breasts, though not as high and as firm as they used to be, still full and eye-catching. Sure, she could use a nip here, a tuck there, but she still had what it took. Her skin glowed. Her pale green eyes sparkled. Her lips were full and pink. She gave herself a contented smile. Stately feminine would describe her look with a subtle sensuous bearing. Men looked at her. But only one man’s look interested her.

She stood and buttoned her beige skirt.

Being alone in a marriage was a road that led nowhere and wasn’t the path she wanted. She needed more from Shawn. But yesterday he’d canceled their theater date to have a drink with a ‘troubled buddy.’ Another broken promise in a long string of cancelled dinners and last-minute weekend business trips.