CHAPTER 8

"What are you doing?”

With high curiosity, Saint watched as his wife slammed the notebook she'd been writing on shut.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? Yet you act otherwise.”

Breathing in deep air, she didn't bother to comment and tried to avoid his questioning gaze and towering stature emphasised by the fact that she was seated on the soft carpet. Stood by the doorway, Saint silently watched her as she hastily gathered all the stacks of fashion magazines and the sheets of paper scattered across their bedroom floor, clearly not having appreciated his unexpected intrusion.

The empty house had been a safe haven for her to be creative. With everything that had gone on for the last few months it was the first time since a long time that the ideas in her head were so clear for her to see that she could put them on paper.

Having always been a light sleeper, Naomi hated the fact that as soon as she heard her husband wake up her body wouldn't allow her to go back to sleep, despite her being bone tired from being intimate with him in the early hours of morning.

Even though she was actively ignoring her husband, thoughts of their lovemaking uncurled sizzles of pleasure from her insides but quickly repressing those thoughts she banged her laptop shut harder than she intended.

It was for this same reason that after Saint had left at seven am in the morning to go to work she forced herself out of the Roux Residence and walked along the river at Pont Alexandre III. She was glad that she did so because she came home more awake and less hung over her husband and inspired by the fashion vogue of the Parisians, for ten hours, in between eating crap food for breakfast, lunch and dinner she had been cooped up in her own world.

Now that he was there, doing more work was thrown out of the window. Finally having put all her stuff in her backpack she rose up from the floor finding herself heavier than usual to do so. Stood to her full height, she stretched a little to ease the numbing pain of her butt at having sat for so long.

“I didn't know you can draw”, she heard him say as she went to his closet to drop her bag.

Naomi hadn't wanted him to walk in on her but she had been lost in herself so much being creative that's she'd lost track of time. Even though she revelled in his implied compliment, having a part of her that she hid from everyone unwillingly revealed to him only made her defensive and so with great reluctance she bit out a thanks.

“So you want to be a fashion designer?”

Her heart beat faster at his question, but on the outside she portrayed calm as she grabbed the pillows that she'd sat on offthe floor. “I'm just shopping for clothes.”

“You're ignoring my question.”

“Great observation.”

The wall that she'd built around herself throughout the day was easily crushed by his presence and she really was not in the best of moods to deal with his pushiness as now everything her mind had been trying hard to avoid hit her from all sides.

“As a matter of fact, there seems to be much I don't know about you.”

“I could say the same to you,” she retorted, finally holding his gaze that never failed to have her heart and body respond.

“You know more about me than I know about you and if you don't, you can ask. I'm an open book – unlike you.”

Saint knew the last part of his statement would get to her and with masked triumph he watched as his wife flashed him a dirty look.

Naomi smoothed the pillow on the bed, thinking it best not to say anything but still the concern she felt for him had grown over the last few days at seeing the marked stress on his face whenever he came back from work, but yet she resisted asking because she could feel the brewing tension between them and she didn't want to feed into it any further.

“And I still don't know why you need ten thousand euros a month.”

But he was making it hard for her.

Breathing out slowly to ease her growing irritation she said, “That's none of your business.”

“Yes it is my business. You're my wife.”

“For sex.”

The sharp retort left a bitter taste in her mouth and as Naomi got closer to her husband because he was standing in her way to get out, she could see the fire in his eyes. He was in the least bit pleased.

Although the situation with the brick plant in India was taking a toll on his stress levels, he'd come home in a relatively good mood feeling enthusiastic about telling Naomi about their evening plans but of course that was no longer the case.

Her comment though true had pissed him off, because he knew it wasn't the whole truth. Saint followed her into the kitchen and taking a bottle of sparkling water from the fridge, used the few moments in silence to control his emotions.

Squeezing the now empty plastic, he screwed the lid back on before throwing it into the bin.“We're going out for a dinner tonight.”

Immediately an unimpressed look settled on Naomi's face.

“No we're not,” and with an afterthought she said, “or rather I'm not going.”

The tension was high – Naomi popped several green grapes in her mouth, pleased with herself to have made her stance clear.

“We both read the same Bible and doesn't it say a wife should reverence her husband?”

“Our marriage isn't exactly conventional or one for reverencing anything.”

At this point Saint's anger spiked, watching her so casually pour herself some pear juice.

“Why is it that when I could only hear your voice through the phone, I just wanted to fuck you but now I find you so fucking irritating.”

“I guess my sex can't be that irritating if you wanted to see it speak three times this morning,” she replied staring him down, before heading out of the kitchen, urgently needing to get away from him.

“Don't flatter yourself mon chéri. Je ai eu mieux.''

“What did you say to me?” She spun around startled at not expecting him to be right behind her.

“I said I've had better.”

It hurt her hearing how comfortable he was saying that and out of spite, jealousy, anger and all the pent up ugly feelings that resided in her she wanted to throw the glass cup in his face and have deep shards cut into his skin, like he was cutting into her emotions.

But words always cut deeper.

“Alright you can go fuck yourself and go on to your better halves.”

“And you can go back to your £6.70 an hour job that you were hardly competent enough to do.”

“Oh so now you're going to use money to control me?”

Saint said nothing. Naomi took it as his answer. “You know what since you don't mind throwing money around, how about you hire yourself an escort for the night.”

“Are you fucking crazy?”

“No you're fucking crazy if you think that I'm going to go anywhere with you. I don't want anyone finding out we're married.”

They were back in the bedroom, she put down her juice and bowl of grapes by her bedside before sitting up on the bed getting a nearby magazine.

“No one needs to know we're married, you could just be seen as my date,” Saint said with less edge to his voice, trying to reign in on his anger.

“Oh yes, but I'm sure this dinner is not just any dinner, I know it's some fancy, business investors bullshit and if pictures are taken and somehow my parents manage to get hold of them what would I say to them?”

Her parents were already in the least pleased that she was not going to be able to go to church with them as she always did on NYE and the last thing she needed was for them to find out exactly why she wasn't with them.

“Merde! You are just being dram-”

“My parents are Nigerian, you don't know how this shit works. So do us both a fucking favour and find yourself another girl.”

And in a quiet voice he says, “You're stupid and naive. I know that you're nineteen but you should be old enough to know that no responsible wife tells her husband to find another female to be seen with him.”

“Erm, I don't think we should be so hasty with adjectives. You're forgetting the fact that you're paying me to fuck you and a wedding certificate only makes it official.”

“You're a fucking bitch.”

“And you're a fucking dick, sir.”

Having no more to say, with one nasty look, he walked out slamming the door to their bedroom closed.

“Love you too baby!”

She laughed out but inside she felt torn up and twisted.

“Bonne année! Louez Jésus!''

(TRANSLATION: Happy New Year! Praise Jesus!)

Shouts of joy, laughter, praise and worship echoed througout the church as people hugged each other and called their friends and family. Shortly after midnight, the service ended and she was back in a taxi to the Roux Residence.

Two days had passed and she had not seen Saint, talkless of talking to him to know where he was and he hadn't bothered contacting her. Their argument rang deep and loud in her heart and having him not around put her in the worst state.

Let not the sun set upon your anger.

She wanted to make amends.

It was the first day of a new year, in many things she was unhappy, but there were many things she knew she had a lot to be grateful for and Saint was one of them. And for the first time in so long, she wanted to make a great effort to stop being so worried about how things would turn out and let God take control.

Naomi's heart raced with excitement when the taxi dropped her at the house and she saw Saint's car parked in front.

He was home.

She walked in and most of the lights downstairs were turned on although there was no sign of him. With nervousness at how her husband was going to receive her apology she climbed up the stairs, smelling heavy traces of alcohol.

When she reached the master room, she hesitated in opening the door, but when she heard soft giggles from the inside she yanked the door open.

From that moment her heart stopped working. The bed was unmade, dresses, bras and thongs lay on the floor along with torn condoms wrappers.

He was in the en suite bathroom – or rather he and her.

She nearly tripped on an empty champagne bottle as she opened the door to the ensuite. Three pairs of eyes stared at her.

Her husband naked in the jacuzzi tub between a blonde and a redhead. Barely acknowledging her presence with glazed eyes, he looked at her up and down showing off a drunken smile.

“Would you like to join us madmoiselle?”