Maybe Forever (Maybe... Book 3) (4 page)

"You didn't tell me she looked like a fucking pinup model."

He tensed and shoved his hands in his pockets. Still he didn't say anything.

"Why did you even bother to suggest we go out and celebrate our anniversary?"

"I wanted us to have a special evening..."

"Oh, it was special alright. I sat there for an hour waiting for you. I felt like such a fool sitting there. And all while you were so consumed by Benny's fascinatin
g
… conversation. Or was it her breasts you were more interested in?"

Now he finally looked up. He opened his mouth to speak, then frowned. "There's nothing going on between me and Benny."

"Your body language—when I saw you together—said the opposite. You were staring at her breasts, Mads. You were looking at her like you wanted to fuck her right there on the table!"

"I don't want Benny! Fucking hell, Laney, you know I don't want anyone else!"

"I don't know
anything
anymore. I feel like I don't know
you
anymore." Saying it hurt. I could feel the pressure building inside me again. I didn't want to argue...I didn't want this at all, but the skin on my chest burned and tightened. I dropped my arms to my sides and bit down on my lip. The sharp thrust of pain distracted me enough to keep the worst of my anger at bay.
Don't shout, Laney, don't wake the girls...don't let them hear you.
"All I wanted tonight was a date night with you...I wanted us to feel like we were still connected. We could have done anything. I just wanted to be with you...and you forgot all about me! You didn't even answer my texts."

"I didn't hear my phone..."

"You could have called me, Mads! Why didn't you call me? Why did you..."

"I said I was sorry, Laney. As soon as we got the news, I wanted to call you and tell you, but then everything just got so hectic—and then the couriers showed up with the food..."

"If you could text me and say you'd be there in fifteen minutes, you could have called me and said there was a change of plans."

"Why can't you try to be happy for me? I'm finally at that point professionally where I wanted to be. This hotel project is what will cement my career."

I didn't want to hear this again. He was too blind to me now. I needed to be away from him but the only place I could escape to was our bedroom. This time he followed me. He said my name but I wouldn't turn, wouldn't look at him. Once we were in the room, he closed the door and said, "Don't pick a fight, Laney...haven't we had enough fights?"

"You just don't get it, do you?" I shrugged his hand off my shoulder. "Did you even once think about me? Think about the fact that you told me to go to that restaurant and wait for you...told me you wanted to make tonight about us getting back on track again..."

And that's when I saw it. The faint smudge of red on his neck...on the side of his face. It wasn't my shade of lipstick. We hadn't even kissed today.

"Did she kiss you?" I demanded. "Did you
let
her kiss you?"

"No...not on the mouth."

"Oh, but your neck was fine and dandy?"

"She was congratulating me—"

"She could've done that without kissing you!"

"Laney..."

"No. Get out of this room. You can't sleep here tonight. Go...go sleep in the guest room. Go sleep anywhere. But you can't sleep in here with me. I don't want you anywhere near me right now."

"We need to talk about this—"

"If I scroll through your phone, am I going to find any messages from her?"

"I haven't done anything wrong, Laney."

"No, but I'll bet you want to, though." My entire body went tight. Every part of me ached with rage that I was just barely holding in. "Is she going to Milan as well?"

He nodded. "So are Jonas, Morten, Ibrahim and Willem."

"Who are Ibrahim and Willem?"

"The other interns."

"Funny how they never come up in conversation as much as Benny has."

"You're overreacting."

"Are you attracted to her?"

He glanced away. I saw the tension building inside of him. Instead of answering me, he began undressing. Was he ever going to answer me?

I didn't want to cry anymore. I didn't want to think about Benny or what he might have done with her. I kept telling myself that maybe I was overreacting—maybe there was nothing going on between them, but the telling silence continued to fester. Mads went into our en suite bathroom. As soon as I heard the shower sputter on, I ended up following him. He was already in the shower stall, his back to me as the water streamed down his body. I watched as he rinsed off a day's worth of sweat...maybe even another woman's scent...from his skin. But standing there watching him...I hated that I still wanted him. I still wanted him to want me and only me. And I knew that tonight might be the last time I could have him to myself. Maybe it was already too late. I was trembling, still unable to stop this unsettled feeling inside me. And when he finally turned off the shower and reached for his towel, I ran my hands along his hips and pulled him close. He turned and the tight expression on his face nearly sent me away. I steeled myself. He exhaled slowly and leaned into me. He captured my lips with his, kissing me tenderly at first, his lips grazing mine, the tip of his tongue gently urging me to let him in. I squeezed my eyes shut and let my arms tighten around him.  For a little while the rising heat between us was enough to make me forget. I let him peel away my camisole, let him push down my shorts. I kicked them aside. My body was coming alive for him even while my doubts were whispering to me, "This won't help..."

But I wanted him, wanted him to fuck me until I could stop feeling so empty inside. I wanted him to claim me, to make me his again. And as he lifted me, pressed me against the wall and I hooked my legs around him, I opened my eyes again and tried to remember every moment of this. He plunged into me and, once we were joined, a tiny ball of heat flamed inside me. "It's been too long..." he gasped in my ear. I tried to stay focused; I just wanted to feel how he throbbed inside me, remember each sensation of his chest against mine, his hands gripping my ass, my hips... the damp tile wall pressing into my back...With each thrust, with each moan, I told myself, "Remember this...remember how good it feels..." And I cried out as he touched me, deep inside, rubbing the right spot, sending waves of liquid heat through my veins, and still I wanted more.

He carried me into the bedroom, still buried deep inside me, still hard and ready for me...we fell onto the bed and he picked up the pace, pinning my hands over my head, keeping his eyes trained on me... I begged him to fuck me, forgetting that we were not alone in the apartment, that at any moment we might be interrupted, forgetting the balcony door was open and our neighbors could probably hear each squeak of the mattress, each creak of the bed frame and our ragged breaths, and Mads... moaning my name again and again. He fucked me...made me come once...and then again...until my body was sore, until he was finally satisfied. When he came, his body shuddered against mine, I writhed under him, wanting just a little more before the fog returned. He rolled off me, breathing heavily and reaching out to stroke my thigh.

"It's just you, Laney..." he said softly. He ran his fingertips along my thigh.

But I'd made up my mind already.

And I still wasn't sure I believed him.

CHAPTER FOUR: Mads

Is This the End?

She was on my mind all day. I'd be fine at first and then I'd remember the disappointment and simmering anger etched on her face when she walked into the workshop, when she saw me with Benny, and it would all come back. The argument, the sudden change of mood when she came to me in the bathroom. I thought maybe this was our first step to righting what was wrong...but when we went to bed, she didn't stay close to me and she inched away when I tried to bridge the gap. I needed to make this up to her. I couldn't fix this with sex. No matter how good it felt to be inside her again, to hear her moaning my name, to sense her every reaction to even the slightest move... we still weren't whole.

Jonas and Morten pretended not to notice my lack of focus. They talked around me, went to Anton with questions, and let me drown myself in sketching new ideas that didn't quite feel right. Even Benny kept her distance. She stayed on the other side of the workshop with Ibrahim and Willem, assembling the credenza Anoushka had ordered. Had Anton warned her off? He'd greeted me with a gruff "
hej
" when I arrived but little else, which was unusual for him. Even at lunchtime he went off on his own instead of suggesting we go to Meyer's Deli or our usual ca
f
é for coffee and
s
mø
rreb
rø
d
. Maybe this was a good thing. I wasn't in the mood to talk to him or anyone else.

All I could think about was talking to Laney, hearing her voice and connecting with her again. I wasn't getting anything done, so I told Jonas and Morten I was going home, I had something I needed to do. They both nodded and sent regards to Laney. I bumped into Anton as I got to the corner.

"Where are you going?" he squinted at me. "I was just heading back...wanted to talk to you about something."

"I need to go home." My stomach growled. Maybe I could take Laney and the girls out to lunch. Maybe we could just sit in the garden and talk while the girls played together. "I need to talk to Laney."

"I was going to ask you about that, actually." Anton lit a cigarette and took a long drag. "We thought Sasha was spending the night...and then she showed up in a cab."

"I screwed everything up." I admitted. "Nothing went the way it should have..."

"You shouldn't have stayed last night." Anton frowned. He scratched his jaw and glanced over my shoulder. "I saw her when she came. And I saw why she left so quickly. You can't...fucking hell, Mads, she'd do anything for you and you fucking forgot you had a date with her?"

"I already feel like shit."

"You should. You should be on your knees begging her to forgive you." He scowled at me, then he nodded towards the workshop. "And we shouldn't keep Benny on. I don't think it's a good idea. Not for any of us."

"We can't fire her if she hasn't done anything wrong."

"You think Laney's going to forgive you when Benny's making a play for you?"

"Benny's not making a play for me."

Anton groaned. "You're blind then. Everyone else sees it."

"As long as she does her job, we can't fire her."

"Then I'm assigning her to work with Jonas and then either Ibrahim or Willem can work with you."

"I don't care right now...I just need to go home."

"Go. But think about what I said. I've known Laney a helluva long time. And I know she's not in a good place right now."

I waited at the door. Normally Liv came running to meet me, but today only silence and a strange stillness filled the apartment. I called out to Laney, but there was no reply. I'd grown so accustomed to Liv and Freya's excited outbursts that coming home to a quiet apartment was unnerving. I went from room to room but the apartment was empty.

The beds were all neatly made; the girls' toys were in their woven baskets. In our bedroom, the scene was much the same. Every room was empty. I checked my phone—no missed calls, no messages. I tried to remember where Laney usually took the girls during the day. Maybe she'd taken them to the aquarium. Liv loved going there and Freya always got so excited about the penguin and sea otters. When the weather was nice, she sometimes took the girls to visit my grandmother and then to the beach.

The apartment felt sterile without them. Where was the clutter Liv managed to produce no matter where she went? I missed Freya's excited shrieks and her chubby form wriggling and scooting across the floor. She was growing so fast. Soon she'd be walking...she was already trying to pull herself up. And her curiosity astounded me. If I was holding her and talking at the same time, she would stare at my mouth and try to move her lips the same way. Sometimes she'd cover my mouth with her fingers and giggle when I made funny noises against her palms. Often when I came home late, I'd go into the girls' room and fetch a sleeping Freya from her crib and bring her into the bedroom with Laney and me. I liked having her there with us, even though Laney said I was spoiling her. I liked the tiny noises she made when she slept, and how she inevitably ended up nestled against my chest, sucking one thumb as she drifted back into dreamland. Liv would eventually wander in, dragging her fox behind her, and scramble onto the bed. She'd whisper "
hej, papa
..." as she found her spot. Her wild halo of curls always made me smile. And when the four of us were in this little cocoon of sleep, all the problems that popped up during the day seemed to vanish.

I wanted that security, that sense of calm, now.

In my mind, I'd pictured coming home and finding Laney alone in the kitchen or maybe the bedroom. I'd planned it all out—the girls would be taking their after-lunch nap, Laney would be having some "me" time. And I'd show up, make up for being such a clueless asshole and we'd talk, maybe we'd make love again. And she'd forgive me. And I would be better. I would listen to her. I would help more. It sounded so simple. I knew Laney was not going to forgive me so easily. But I at least wanted a chance to show her that I loved her, that I wanted her to be happy.

I left several text messages for her, but she never answered. I hung around the apartment for another hour, hoping they'd return from their outing, then I went back to the workshop. The project lead for the hotel group was coming in for a meeting. Before I left the apartment, I wrote a note to Laney, told her I loved her and asked her to call me. In a way, this was better than nothing.

I would see her soon.

I would set things right again.

The meeting took longer than I'd expected. They always did. The hotel group was anxious to get started—but cautious in the design route they wanted to take. Most of their hotels had a very standard boutique hotel feel to them. Lots of dark wood, lots of beige walls that they kept calling warm, comforting neutrals. Jonas and I had spent several months coming up with ideas that would stray from this pattern. We wanted to work with teak, walnut and oak. We knew they liked our Hans Wegne
r–
inspired chairs and side tables, so we'd focused on creating furniture designs that reflected the Danish Modern aesthetic without veering into a too-dated or retro feel. But the project lead was one of those too cool for you guys who wore a suit with slicked-back hair and a smirk. His name was Ole Biers, and he behaved as though Jonas and I were little boys who needed to be coddled.

"We're expecting something spectacular," he said at the end of the meeting. He flapped his right hand as though he were shooing away an annoying pigeon. "We need to wow the masses."

Jonas and I gave him a side eye. He'd been blathering on in similar platitudes throughout the meeting, wanting to completely change the very designs the owners had loved. We should have been prepared for this. There was always that client who swore they loved your work and then wanted to strip away everything they claimed to adore until there was nothing left but a generic shell. Once he was gone, Jonas jumped up and down, stomping his feet on the floor like a frustrated child having a temper tantrum. I rolled up the designs and cleared our hastily drawn revisions and coffee cups from the table.

"Shit, I hate that man!" Jonas banged his fists on the tabletop and grimaced. "He is like...pond scum! He doesn't know anything!"

"He's the one with the check," I reminded him. Even if we were doing well, we needed big clients like the hotel group if we wanted to keep a good reputation. But I agreed with Jonas. People like Ole...for them furniture and design was all about status. They didn't see the beauty in a perfectly honed piece of wood. They looked at what we created and only wondered how much it would be worth in the future or who would it impress. But he helped us pay the bills, so we couldn't always say no just because we didn't like the client.

"Yeah, well, next time let's make sure we bid on projects that don't involve assholes like him."

"Hindsight, Jonas, hindsight." I grinned and shook my head. It was late enough in the afternoon that the summer heat was building. The back of my T-shirt was damp with sweat. My skin felt hot and sticky... It would be good to go home and take a shower, change into a clean shirt and shorts.

I strode through the workshop to the back office. Anton was on the phone when I walked in. He nodded at me then lowered his voice. It must have been Ingrid on the other line. I grabbed my phone from the desk. One missed call—finally, it was Laney. But when I listened to the message—everything drained from me.

Hi, it's me....I can't be with you right now... I need a break. From you. From our life. I don't think you understand how difficult it's been. I feel like you don't see me, you don't care. I'm at home all day taking care of our daughters and you don't come home when you say you will. I'm drowning, Mads. I am drowning. I am hanging on by a thread and the only thing keeping me from sinking too far...it's Liv and Freya. I love them so much... I don't want them to ever feel like this. I don't want them to live with parents who maybe don't love or like each other. I don't know what's going wrong with me...with us. I love you, Mads, but I can't take this anymore...feeling like I am the only one keeping our life together, like I am the only one in our marriage. You said your work would never come before your family but it does...time after time. Jeg elsker deg so højt, Mads...but yesterday was the last straw. I'm so fucking tired of this...and you don't get it, you think your dream is more important than our family. I need you. I keep telling you this. I can't do this—raise our girls, keep us together, everything—on my own. So I'm going to figure out what I want. The girls and I...we need some peace.

I just remember saying "no"... It was the only word that was going through my head. No. And then this whooshing sensation, like the floor dropped from under me. 

Then...I don't know. . This... fury took over. Every ounce of reserve disappeared and all I could see was this life, my life, crumbling. I'd lost her. I'd let her go...I thought...I thought last night we'd reconnected. I thought it was a prelude to something better for us.

Damn it, Laney...no...just...no...

*     *     *

All
night I tried to call her but my calls went to voicemail. Each time the message I left was the same: "Laney, please, where are you? I love you. Please, call me, come home..."

I couldn't stay at the workshop. I didn't want to go home. How could I stand it when she was gone? When my girls were gone? But where could I go? If I went to Henrik, Eddy would give me such a tongue-lashing that I would feel even worse. If I went to
farmor
, she would wonder why Laney and the girls were not with me. I ended up calling Adam. We hadn't spent much time together lately—there were still traces of resentment on both sides from Trine's attitude towards Laney. She still thought Laney was no good for me, even after all this time. She still thought our marriage was a bad idea. Yet she adored Liv and Freya and would shower them with so much affection. Laney had always tolerated it. She figured it was better that Trine liked our children rather than concentrating on us, but she didn't trust Trine with them. But when I called Adam, he said he couldn't meet me.

"I've got a family dinner," he said. "Trine will kill me if I try to get out of it."

"Maybe tomorrow then."

But I didn't think he'd call back. And I didn't tell him what happened.

Anton was still hanging around. I knew he wanted to talk to me, but I tried to put him off. I didn't want to hear any "I told you so's—even if I deserved it. He hovered, though, scratching his head, rapping his knuckles on the doorframe, whistling off tune.

And he wouldn't let me get away with avoiding him.

"I know where she is," he said with no preamble. "She told Ingrid."

"You know...?"

He nodded. "She called Ingrid this morning—but Ingrid didn't tell me until a few minutes ago."

"Where is she?""

"She's on a plane."

"Don't be so fucking cryptic, just tell me where my wife is."

"She's on a plane. She's on her way to America."

"Anton, she left me." Saying it still didn't take away the awful reality of it. Laney walked away from me. We said we'd never do it... she always told me she didn't want to be in the same situation her mother had been in. That she would fight for us. But maybe she'd been fighting all along and I'd missed the signs.