A Perfect Stitch

Chapter 71 | indirect coward approach

In situations that necessitated critical thinking, pacing around a room full of well-organized stuff was an option, and fidgeting with whatever object in sight was another option people would pick over a calming bath or running unnecessary errands just to get their heads around things, yet none of these techniques for dealing with anxiety came close to lighting candles in a circle around a bathtub.

No offense to anyone who found pleasure in running circles in their backyard with their pet animals, or climbing hills in the Himalayas with their partners, nor even touring around the world as a coping mechanism for the unfathomable situations life threw at us, true, all these options worked just fine with individual preferences.

But in my honest opinion, preparing a bubble bath for the man we love so passionately should be nominated as the best way of dealing with recurrent stress.

It presented grand opportunities like getting all the short-lived gratifications that came along with finally having absolute control over something, which included having entire control over the simple action of pouring fragrant oils of choice into a bathtub of warm water for the man we loved and cherished so much dearly.

Preparing a warm bubble bath for Dwain was the game changer that sorted out my thoughts at the speed of light, tweaked the chaos into something that was very much plausible, and turned the decision-making process into a child's play.

At last, it struck a nerve.

Like a never-ending glowing lamp, it was a bolt of lightning.

The pulsating nerve firing down my spine straightened my back, commanding me with an aura of superiority to stand barefooted with ease, fetching me out of a stupid daze and jumping momentarily into the false reality that was now my life.

It was time to confront the secret within me, to reveal the truth of my identity to Dwain, but before I could lay my cards on the table, something had to be done.

Something fast, something urgent, something very urgent had to be done.

So, I righteously anticipated my next move.

If life had taught me one thing, it was the art of exercising delayed patience which most people deliberately refused to exert, quickly skipping to action without weighing their options or making good judgments.

Etched into my native roots were the skills to analyze and calculate, concentrate, and survey the raging waters until it was safe to strike a move, and at this extremely delicate hour of my existence, the wrong move was never an option.

I carefully set up the ambiance in the bathroom

The soft sound of water cascading from the faucet created a very soothing ambiance, perfect for an intimate conversation.

As the warm water cascaded over his head, Dwain closed his eyes, allowing himself to relax into the comforting touch of my hands massaging fragrant shampoo into his hair.

The warm, steamy air filled the bathroom.

I took a deep breath, my heart pounding fervently in my chest like a loose wagon in heated pursuit, and washed Dwain's hair with loving tenderness.

The locks were slick in between my fingers, mirroring the recklessness of silk.

This was my chance to gauge his reaction, to see how he would truly feel about the famous Ellis and Elisabeth identity crises, before revealing the truth.

The scent of lavender permeated the steam-filled bathroom as I skillfully poured warm water over Dwain's luscious locks, his head cradled gently on the edge of the bathtub.

As the water cascaded down his head, I set aside the shampoo and delicately massaged his scalp.

"Have you ever thought about the complexities of love and identity?" I let out a nervous exhale and asked, "How far would you go for someone you truly love?"

Leaning back against the edge of the bathtub, he raised an eyebrow in curiosity, his eyes searching my face for any hint of what was going on in my mind. "What brought this on, little nutshell? Is something bothering you?"

My grip around his hair tightened as I absorbed his words.

He had felt it.

His inquiry was gentle, similar to tasting the waters while awaiting a storm.

I wasn't ready to face the consequences of my deceit, fearing that once the truth was revealed, Dwain would not only despise me but Elisabeth as well.

Desperate to gauge his reaction, I decided on a roundabout way to broach the subject using the fake notion of an anonymous article I had stumbled upon online.

Feigning nonchalance, I began softly, "Seems like it, Mr. Horton, something is bothering me," my voice was barely above a whisper as though my heart shattered at his words, pain coursing through my veins. "I read something online today and it got me thinking."

Eyes closed, he let out a contented sigh.

"What is it, my love?"

His endowments were like antique wine to the ears, in fact, very sweet wine, but this wasn't the right time or the right place to look like a smooched cherry.

In very different conditions, somewhere far from hopeless drama and deception, perhaps on an impressive Spanish island or a desolated beach somewhere in the heart of Brazil or Dubai, I would have fallen effortlessly into Dwain's enormously big athletic arms, blushed profoundly for a seemingly long while, and kissed his forehead just like any possessive wife out there would have done until he gets a very beautiful hickey—my mark—my possessive mark.

Instead, I took a deep breath, my fingers momentarily freezing in his hair.

"I... I read an article today about a woman who ended up marrying her twin sister's husband without him knowing. It was by accident, and she's been struggling to find the right time to tell him the truth. The woman has tried telling him the truth that she isn't the woman he originally fell in love with, but something always complicates the situation. It made me question how someone deals with such a fragile situation."

His eyes fluttered open, confusion knitting his brows together. "Marrying her twin sister's husband? How does that even happen? How did she manage to deceive him for so long?"

I could feel the resentment emanating from his words, the truth ready to escape my heavy mouth, but as I looked into his trusting eyes, a knot tightened in my chest.

Jeez, why did it have to be so hard?

My grip on the shampoo bottle tightened as I struggled to find the right words.

"They were identical twins and the man couldn't tell them apart. It's a rather extraordinary situation, a very heartbreaking situation for everyone involved." I furrowed my brows, feigning thoughtful concern. "But what struck me the most was the internal struggle this woman faced. She knew that revealing the truth would only bring pain and anguish to her sister and her husband."

I could see hurt building in his eyes.

Suddenly, the weight of the hidden truth burdened me further until I could barely breathe.

Dwain's resentment only solidified what I had feared all along—that the truth would destroy everything we had built together.

He reached out, gently taking my hand in his, a mixture of confusion and concern etching itself on his face.

"Little nutshell, why are you bringing this up? Is there something you need to tell me?"