Furious Jeffrey Higgins (english love story books TXT) 📖

the stairs, leaving me alone to stare at the stars. He had been aggressive before I consented, another window into his violent tendencies, a glimpse into the beast within. Would he become more forceful?

I sat up. If I had not agreed to have sex, would he have stopped, or would he have raped me? Now that I had consented, would he expect our sex life to resume as normal and want sex again tomorrow? What would he do if I declined?

I shook my head. How could I even think like that? Brad was not capable of marital rape. He had his flaws, serious issues, but he would never violate my body. He would respect my decision, my right to refuse. I shrugged the thought away.

In my heart, I remained unsure.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

The sea stilled, and the surface turned opaque as the horizon changed from cobalt to coal. The earth darkened, and the sky transformed into a brilliant canvas of sparkling light. The water lapped against the hull, the sheets groaned, and the halyard shackles clanged against the mast. The yacht became a music box, gliding across the earth’s surface.

After having sex with Brad, I remained naked on deck, a part of nature. Human. The smallness of mankind—my very existence—on display beneath the infinite space of the universe. I connected to the earth, to Emma, to God. Emotion bubbled inside me, like lava inside a volcano. My body convulsed with sobs as my grief poured out. I cried for a long time, then something happened.

I felt better.

There, sliding across the surface of the Indian Ocean, beneath the stars, at one with Mother Earth and under the eyes of God—I found peace. Losing Emma had almost destroyed me, but I was alive, and as long as I drew breath, I would fight to survive. I wanted to live again, be happy, embrace the gift of life.

The sails luffed and the black canvas flapped in the wind. I walked to the helm and turned on the instrument panel. I tightened the sheets until the boom swung close to the gunwale. The sails smoothed, and the boat heeled, almost imperceptibly, but I noticed. I had become one with the yacht, sensing its every movement. I was sailing. Me. The city girl from Boston—the woman with aquaphobia. I piloted a sailboat across the vast Indian Ocean, half a world away from home.

Had I given myself to Brad because of my guilt from denying him for so long?  It had been a primal act, physical, not emotional. We had never kissed. It may have been obligation, but it had also brought carnal pleasure. Fast, but stimulating. I had denied my body any release since before Emma—a form of self-flagellation—and I needed it. I missed the physical pleasure, but not Brad. He had become incidental to my needs.

Had I ever loved him?

I had recognized lust and envy in the eyes of the nurses on the surgical floor when I had visited Brad at New England General Hospital. I remembered a young auburn-haired nurse—all blue eyes, red lips, and big tits—staring at Brad as he walked past. She had whispered something to another nurse, and they had giggled. Brad always had women eating out of his hand. His stunning features, great body, and wealth were all aphrodisiacs. How many times had he acted on it? Had he cheated when we dated? Had he done so after we were married?

How easy it was for men to have sex. They seemed willing to couple with almost anyone, simply for the physical release. Sex was probably better for men when it involved love, but emotion was not a prerequisite. Men and women differed in many ways, and Brad was the man every woman wanted. On paper.

I had dated Brad for fun but married him for Emma. I did not believe in abortion and marrying my baby’s father had seemed natural and right. I had wanted her to have a father at home, and Brad had treated me with respect. And he wanted to be a father. How could I have resisted?

There had been sacrifices. Brad bought the house in Newton and yanked me away from the only home I had ever known. I had always pictured myself sitting before a roaring fire with a golden retriever, but Brad hated dogs, and I had abandoned my dream. Marriage involved compromise.

I had seen signs of trouble right away. Brad had made an offhand comment, saying New England General Hospital’s top surgeons were all married, and now that he was engaged, he hoped they would accept him. I had tried to ignore it, but it laid the seeds of doubt. Had Brad wanted to marry me to increase his social standing and please his parents by settling down? If that was his goal, he should have picked a rich socialite, because his parents had never warmed to me.

My doubt had taken root the day Brad met me for lunch on Beacon Street. I had been enjoying our date until he pulled a document out of his briefcase and slapped it on the table. My memory of that moment remained crystal clear.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“It’s a prenup.”

“Are you serious? You think I’m after your money?”

“Of course not, but my parents think—”

“What? That I got pregnant on purpose?”

Brad looked like he had eaten a lemon. “No one is saying that. They’re just being protective.”

“Of you?”

“Of their business. Our family has run Coolidge Financial Services for generations. Jacob Coolidge founded it in 1898 and it was one of Boston’s largest banks in the early twentieth century. It’s—”

“I get it. Your family has old money, and they want to protect it, but what does that have to do with us?”

“I’m an only child and I’ll inherit all of it someday. They’re concerned. That’s all.”

 “I don’t give a shit about your money.”

Brad’s wealth was nice, but I would never marry for money. Women who did acted exploitive, whorish. I enjoyed the money, the luxury car, expensive