Chapter 12

They say there is no such thing as falling out of love. All it proves is that you were never in love to begin with. Maybe that's true. But maybe it's just wordplay. The pain can be real enough, though.

Alec Austin was like most men; he didn't want to really know the details. He knew he was cuckolded and it hurt, but so far that was mostly an abstract experience. As long as he didn't ask, awkward images of actual betrayal would not invade his mind. And he would not have to face the consequences really, would he?

But Alec Austin was like many men in other ways too. Seeing his wife suck cock was one thing. But that it had been in public and in his presence, was quite another. He had been there when she made the old man come under the eyes of other men that derided him. They knew that he knew his wife was a whore, and that is something no real man would accept, would he?

Now here she was, ready to tell him everything. Why had she come back at all? Did she want to gloat; first breaking his heart, then making him a fool in front of others and then returning home to rub it in?

"I don't want to know," he said, his voice thick. His answer shocked Juliana. He didn't want to know? But he had to.

"You have to know," Juliana said. "This isn't about me, it is about you. You are alive because of what I agreed to do – and did. I had no choice; I did it for you." She saw his eyes fill with tears. She rose and hugged him, sitting down on his lap. He smelled of a lack of washing.

"I know it hurts," she whispered. "It hurt me too. It still hurts." She kissed his tear-streaked cheeks; he didn't respond. Then he pushed her off his lap, making her slide to the floor.

"I can't," he said. "I'm out." And he left, closing the door with a bang.

Juliana hugged herself on the floor.

She wasn't hungry. She made some tea and went to bed in her old, long flannel nightgown. She felt abandoned – it was an old feeling returning. Darkness crept into the room. On the opposite wall she could still discern a small reproduction of the famous Wyeth painting: a girl lying in a meadow looking up to an old farm. They'd found it at a thrift shop. She remembered the thrill of that moment.

Juliana switched on the small reading light on her bed stand. Hugging her tea glass while taking tiny sips, she let her thoughts roam. So Alec didn't want to know what she did. Did she want to tell him – about everything she did and to whom? Not really. Her upbringing hadn't exactly instilled the urge to share feelings. It had been hard enough to even have feelings, let alone talk about them – as far as anyone was interested to anyway.

But things had changed; the villa opened her to emotions. She'd been forced to have them. Could she live with Alec again and not share what she'd experienced – and how she felt about that? She would become a stranger to her husband, a stranger in her own life if she couldn't share. She might as well not be with him at all. Which brought another question: did she want to stay with him? She ducked the thought.

Who else could she tell? Aimée? Never. Aimée would be enraged. She'd stop Juliana from going back and instead urge her to go to the police. Did she want to go there? Was it worth the hassle and the embarrassment? Was there even a crime? The doctors were highly regarded; they were rich and would pay for the best lawyers, and who was she? Wasn't it just her word against theirs? Ellis wouldn't testify and endanger her deal, nor would the others. No, she would just end up with a ruined reputation and a crazy bill to pay. Juliana sighed and sipped her tea. She'd be on her own.

What about Alec? Would he come back at all before tomorrow? Where was he anyway? Did she care? She got up from the bed and, wrapping herself in the blanket, she started walking around the apartment, drinking her tea. Her new eyes didn't see what her old ones had ­– not the pride and the warmth; the freedom of having their small but first and very own place. What she saw were old damp spots on the ceiling; the mishmash of furniture, the tiny kitchen – a bathroom with a leaking shower. Why couldn't she still see it like she did before, like they both used to? Had she been spoilt?

Juliana didn't really care for the posh luxury of the villa. She'd loved the big bathroom and having her food served, the massages too, but that wasn't what she missed now. She knew what she missed: it wasn't the apartment as such; it was how she felt about it. It wasn't their apartment anymore – it had become just another place, and a poor one at that. She remembered how it had been us and we and ours. She recalled the thrilling excitement of finding it, the pride of being able to pay for it, the sweet process of filling it with their very own discoveries. She still knew every little story behind every piece they found, but the magic seemed to have left them – they were just ... things now. Her eyes only saw the outside anymore – slightly shabby, very cheap, and nothing special at all.

She cried; it felt like mourning. Juliana returned to the bed. After a while she pulled off her nightgown and rolled into a naked ball.

She must have fallen asleep eventually; a sliver of light woke her. The room was dark. She saw the silhouette of someone against the half-open door. She sat up in panic.

"It's just me," a voice said. It was Alec's. He stood on one leg, pulling off his jeans. She smelled alcohol. When he slid behind her in the narrow bed, his skin felt cold against hers.

"I'm sorry," he said. She wondered what he meant – sorry for being cold, being drunk, or being late. "Sorry that I ran off and left you like that."

Juliana's heart skipped a beat. She pushed her back into his body. He draped a cold arm over her shoulder. She kissed his hand.

"I'm sorry too," she whispered. "For dumping it on you like I did. It must have hurt you."

She felt his crotch against her ass cheek; his penis was soft, but it stirred. Juliana took his fingers and sucked on them. Remnants of old, save feelings returned.

"What did they make you do?" he asked, sending a waft of alcohol with the question. His penis seemed to grow. A wave of sadness hit her.

"Do you really want to know?" she asked. He pushed harder into her skin. One cold hand cupped her breast.

"You are my wife," he said. "I have a right to know."

Juliana rolled away from her husband, shaking off his hand. She sat up, looking down into his face.

"Alec Austin," she said. "Do you love me?" There was silence for quite a few seconds.

"What – what do you mean?" he then said. "Of course I love you. What kind of question is this? Didn't I marry you, for God's sake?" Juliana lay back down.

"Show me," she said. There was another long silence.

"What do you mean?" he asked again. Juliana sighed.

"Never mind," she said.

Her hand went for his crotch, her fingers wrapping around his soft penis. She started rubbing it. He pulled in a sharp breath.

"Kiss me," she said. She knew he kissed all right, but somehow he'd mostly reserved that for making out sessions in the car or at the doorstep, back when they still dated. He hardly ever kissed anymore when they were in bed making love as a married couple.

His mouth came closer and with it the smell of alcohol. It seemed less; maybe she got used to it.

She allowed his tongue in; then she retaliated with hers – greedily. She'd never kissed him like this. Soon she was on top of him. Sliding down she left his mouth and started sucking on his nipples. His body stiffened; she also felt his penis swell. By the time her mouth reached his cock it was hard. When her tongue licked its exposed glans, he groaned and panted – his hands clawing into her skull.

"Oh God, Jules ... what are you doing?" His voice was high and breathy.

Before Juliana could sink her lips over his stem, hot sperm shot across her tongue. His cock pulsed and pulsed until the semen ran from the corners of her mouth. She swallowed it and cleaned her lips and chin with the palm of her hand.

"That's quick," she said.

Alec didn't answer. He just lay panting.

"Are you all right?" she asked after a minute.

"Oh God," he sighed; his voice still trembled. Juliana sank back on her pillow, staring up into the darkness.

"Is that ... is that what you do for the money?" he asked. She chuckled.

"If that was all I do, I'd have to stay for another year," she said. He didn't answer for a bit. Then he said:

"But you are back now, aren't you?"

It was Juliana's turn to be quiet.

"No," she then said, softly. "I have to be back tomorrow." The silence was really long after that.

The next morning Juliana woke up before Alec. Her back was sweaty from being close to his body. She slid out from under the covers, picking up her ankle-long nightgown. Alec woke.

"Stay with me," he said.

"I have to go pee," she answered. He sat up on his elbows.

"I mean: stay," he said. "Don't leave." She turned around, watching him.

"I can't," she said. "They'll ruin us."

"Maybe the bill is a fake – just a trick?"

Juliana walked over to his side of the bed, sitting down. She watched his skull, tracing the scar. Dark stubbles had grown back to make it less visible.

"This is real enough," she said. He grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips.

"Stay," he said. Juliana retracted her hand and walked off to the bathroom.

Sitting down on the toilet she considered the jumble of her thoughts. What would happen if she stayed and ignored what Charrier said? Would the deal hold up if she went to a lawyer? Could they ever pay a lawyer? The bill was real; she'd seen it and she'd signed it. There was nothing about the bill that suggested blackmail or in-kind payment. There wasn't even proof of the amount she'd paid off already. Would there ever be? Had she been stupid as well as desperate when she signed? Did she have a choice? Did she want to have a choice?

Juliana knew she wasn't honest. She wasn't really looking for reasons to stay. She just needed reasons to live with a decision she'd already made. All she did was building a construction to prove the impossibility of not returning to the villa.

She didn't want to stay. When she thought of the apartment, her dreary jobs and her life with Alec, a dark melancholy descended on her. She'd turned a corner and it had changed her view of Alec. It had changed Alec too.

Her abuse aroused him. Was there really much difference anymore between fucking him and doing clients? Except that he was very clumsy at it? Juliana leant forward. She rested her elbows on her knees and held her face in her hands.

"Juliana?" His voice came through the closed door. She sighed.

When she came back into the bedroom, Alec lay on top of the blankets. He was naked; his erect penis rose from his crotch. She looked at his flushed face and back to his cock. His fist was wrapped around it.

"Say it," she said.

"Please," he begged.

Juliana shrugged and went down on her knees. She took his penis and ran her tongue from his balls to the ridge of the head. She felt him shiver.

Within minutes it was over. She swallowed his sperm and licked him clean. Then she rose. Walking over to the closet she took off the nightgown. Feeling his eyes on her, she slipped on the tiny red thong, the tight dress and her towering heels. She looked into the mirror of her compact, restoring her make up and painting her lips. Then she picked up the coat and her purse. She took the reproduction off the wall.

"Bye, Alec," she said. He scrambled to get off the bed, but she already closed the front door.

"Whore!" she heard him yell as she walked down the stairs. She still tasted his sperm when she got into the cab.

Six months may seem a never-ending stretch of time when seen in front – a mountain of days, an ocean of weeks. And yet the same six months may feel like nothing afterwards – a mere sigh, a handful of heartbeats.

Juliana Austin churned her ass into the soft, warm flesh of her man's crotch. Sipping fruit juice through a straw, she leant into his padded chest and belly, humming. Seen through dark glasses the sun sparkled on the deep blue surface of a swimming pool. She looked up to see the violet sky. Then she tilted her head backwards, smiling. She planted a sticky fruit kiss on the man's cheek.

"When did you know for sure?" he asked. Juliana chuckled.

"I've always known, big boy," she said, caressing his face. He frowned.

"I'm not a client," he growled. "The truth will do."

Juliana took another sip. She laughed.

"Oh my, the truuuth... , really?" she said, letting the last word dangle amongst twittering birds and chirping crickets. Her nostrils flared as she took in the scent of pine trees – ah, la Méditerranée.

"The truth is... , " she started, teasing him with another pause as her fingers picked an ice cube from the glass. She sucked on it. A slap rang around the terrace as his hand hit her thigh. She squealed, dropping the cube into the V of her hairless crotch.

Juliana planted another kiss on his cheek.