MARRIAGE TRAP

HOMECOMING

God fucking. Who the hell does he think he is?

It's a heart that has no answer. Lyra punched him in the pillow, then hit him hard. The pillow could not be a replacement for one of Romy's weak body parts, but it could help.

Lyra woke up the next morning, then bathed, dressed, tidied up blankets and pillows. He was brewing hot coffee when his father entered the kitchen.

"Hi." he said with a smile. "Coffee is almost ready. A lot of sleep, huh?"

Dad looked up and looked at me with a wondering look. "I think I heard the phone ring last night."

Lyra put the bread on the toaster. "My handphone."

His father's eyes narrowed. "No problem, I hope?"

"Romy's." Lyra explained tiredly and saw her father frowning.

"You didn't tell him you were here?"

"She was in Singapore" Lyra reminded her father as the toast was ripe, then added jam, then bit her.

His father stared carefully. "Whatever you're planning, don't do it."

Lyra looked at her father flatly. "I don't feel the need to tell you my every activity."

"Step carefully," the father reminded gently, "Romy could be a very dangerous man if in about."

"Cereals and juice?" Lyra offers. This was not an evasive tactic, he convinced himself inwardly, just a diversion. "Or do you prefer bread and eggs?"

"Cereal. I'll take it. What time do you have to go?"

"Quickly." Lyra bit her bread again, then poured coffee into two cups and handed one cup to her father. "I'll call, tell Sarah, and change.

It was seven o'clock when Lyra left the apartment, and forty-five minutes later was already on the road again.

Lyra thought she was enjoying Romy's absence, and although it didn't bother her during the day, at night it bothered her.

He hated to admit it, but the bed seemed too big without the man there. He longs for the warmth of Romy's body, the man's arms clenched tightly to him at night. Romy's lips and hands while tracing her body.

When mastering.

Gosh darn. Just the thought of Romy made Lyra feel hungry for the man's touch, and every day she was getting more and more agitated by his passion.

It may be crazy, but Lyra often swaps her pillow so that she lays her head on the pillow that Romy used to wear, it was as if the faint scent of soap that the man was using would probably calm his nerves and help him sleep easily.

Romy did not make calls, their messages and e-mails were brief, and Sheila's invitation to join her at an exhibition event at a Lyra gallery was enthusiastically received.

Sheila's formal dress, and Lyra chose a classic black dress, sweeping a little makeup with accentuated eyes, styling her hair, in a casual bun and holding it in large flops, adding jewelry, and putting it on,. put on shoes and grab a black party bag.

Lyra turned around, and stopped suddenly when she saw Romy standing with one shoulder leaning against the doorstep while observing her with a saint.

For a moment that made her heart stop beating Lyra felt like a rabbit caught among the lights of a car.

"Wanna go?"

Saying "You've come home." seems pointless. "Sheila has a ticket to the exhibition at the gallery."

Romy moved from the doorway and took off his suit. "I'm sure he doesn't mind if I come with you." He took off the tie and threw it. "Call him."

Her tone was flat, calm but contained a danger that made Lyra very alert.

"You've just come a long way."

One of Romy's eyebrows shot up with a mocking look without a sound. "And I slept for that long." He took off his shirt and took off his shoes. "I'll take a shower, then get dressed." He opened the zipper and stepped out of his pants. "Fifteen minutes."