The Seven Pieces of a Feuilleton

Chapter 15

She believed it rather unfair for his morning wakeup call to include the lack of a shirt and concluded he knew precisely how his chosen appearance affected her.

When they still bore the label of newlyweds, he would often climb over her sheet-clad form to burrow her in his arms and bury her in his enthusiastic kisses.

She would giggle. He would answer her giggle with a passionate interlocking of their lips, trailing his down to her stomach even before it had begun to stretch with their child.

In all honesty, she had missed waking up to him.

She could not understand why she missed it, having been quite content to wake up to Finn for the past year and a half.

She certainly didn't want Dylan to know she missed it.

Brenda felt a bit like a key tossed under a housemat, pulled out only when remembered for convenience; otherwise absent from one's mind. Though she was quite convinced that Dylan only acted accordingly to persuade her into changing her mind regarding their marriage, she still failed to un-Velcro her eyes from his overly enticing figure.

She experienced the strange combination of immense relief and increasing irritation that his lower half remained clothed.

"How are we doing today?" He sat on the bed, rubbing her shoulder whilst she tried to look everywhere but at his bare, toned chest.

Finn's chest was much more defined, she reminded herself, then inwardly sighed at her continued comparison between the two men who were unfortunately both attractive in appearance.

"Seemed like a pretty vicious nightmare last night," Dylan continued, looking annoyingly adorable in his worry.

"It's the same one I've had all week, but it keeps modifying," Brenda groaned, gratefully accepting the paper cup of coffee held out in his grasp. "Thanks for staying with me. We didn't -"

"No, I just held you until you fell asleep and then slept on the other side of the bed in case you woke up screaming again. It's like I said, Bren. You don't have to go through it alone. Anything you need, I've got you." He caressed her cheek, murmuring, "Want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

He nodded, slowly sweeping her hair to the side.

"I don't usually remember it when I wake up, but it's still vivid right now," she began. "You're there, on the sand. Finn's there, on a literal air mattress. But instead of choosing you or him, I always choose Aurora and then when I walk over to her floating crib -" she scrunched up her features, forcing herself to recall the rest of the dream before it once more sailed away from her, "- he's there."

"Finn's by our daughter's crib?" Dylan's brows knit together in concern.

"Not Finn. Stuart."

His hand tensed on her shoulder.

"You're doing it again," she noted.

"I'm doing something?"

"You tense up and get all quiet any time I say his name."

"Well, Brenda, it's no secret how much I hate the guy. He did show up at RADA uninvited and was this close," Dylan formed a nearly closed circle with his thumb and forefinger, "to forcing himself on you the day of our wedding if Silver hadn't busted in to ask whatever question I'd told him to ask. Stewie's a bad fungus you can't get off your foot. Your hip hurt for a week from where the fucker grabbed you."

"It's more than that though, isn't it? That was nine whole years ago and yeah, he's clearly conceited as hell, and Donna definitely doesn't trust him, which means he's probably still an ass 'cause Don is way too trusting for her own good, but he hasn't tried anything since. It's not as if he plays any kind of role in my life. You got extra insistent about telling you and Bran if Stuart comes near me again and then the bartender -" Her gaze narrowed. "You're hiding something from me, Dylan, and I don't like it. We can't fix our marriage with secrets."