Love to Hate You: Ask Vicky...

Chapter Seventeen - The Climax (not the good kind)

Rafe lay in bed beside his wife. She was still annoyed with him, which wasn't surprising, because she appeared to take great delight in hating him, so she tended to drag out any opportunity to bicker with him. The difference was, this time he knew he'd upset her and not just angered her. Having her project handed over to Vicky had bruised her ego, and Rafe's initial dismissal of her feelings had made the business decision feel like a personal slight, so she'd taken her frustration with Paxton and Colville out on the sex life of Mr Paxton, directly.

Then, to compound matters, Vicky had completed the report for the bid in record time, before taking it upon herself to stick her nose into plenty of other pies; pies which didn't need her input, but which - undeniably - benefitted from it. Where Vicky shone, Mattie was murky with pastel dust, as she produced yet another set of drawings for Oliver Thompson. Where Vicky interfered, she was offering "insight" which was "appreciated, thank you very much." But where Mattie tried to break free from the photocopier and minute taking, she was "inefficient" or, as Rafe had often accused, "confusing their marriage with his business".

The weary man sighed. It was hard work having a feisty wife who was still ovulating; even if she did only have one ovary. For seven days at a time, her fierce spirit turned feral, and even when she wasn't struck down with raging hormones, Mattie was prone to melodramatic reactions to pragmatic business decisions. She took things personally, because she made the mistake of thinking that men thought about things in just as much detail as she did. Because she thought everyone was like an onion, just because she was like an onion, when in reality, Rafe was a potato with a non-porous skin.

'I love you,' he whispered to her sleeping form. She was nestled into his side, after having drifted over to him from the far side of the bed, where she'd fallen asleep - her back turned to him - every night since she'd been passed over for Vicky. And, just like every other night, she couldn't hate him in her sleep, so she'd snuggle into him, and he'd hold her, whilst gazing at her youthful face, wondering how he got so lucky as to call her his wife. And, simultaneously, he'd wonder how the luckiest man in the world could find marriage so exhausting.

"It's because you're always together", he heard Aunt Vee's voice laugh, recalling the time she'd told Mattie that Rafe was "hard work" because there was "no getting away from him". They lived side-by-side and worked... well, across from one another, because it was Chris's office that was beside his, but the effect was the same. There was no clear division between work and home; between employer and husband. Acknowledging it was a light bulb moment for Rafe. The light bulb was already on, of course, and always had been, because Rafe didn't "do" epiphanies. He knew what he knew and what he knew was enough. He was too intelligent and collected for "sudden realisation". Instead, the light bulb moment signified the resolution of an internal debate, and to mark it, he pressed a kiss to his wife's smooth brow and drew in a deep breath; the scent of her perfume comforting, because he was too tired to muster an erection and find it sensual.

'Raffey,' Mattie mumbled, jostled by the gentle shifting of the bed as Rafe nudged her closer.

'Shhhh. Sleep, darling,' he urged, despite knowing that now he'd made up his mind, he wouldn't get a moment of sleep at all.

***

'Vicky,' Chris said, when she took a chair in the meeting room with him and Rafe. He glanced at his business partner for reassurance, because Rafe had told him that he'd made up his mind about Vicky and the "P.A. situation", and although Rafe was a decisive man, Chris couldn't help but think he might have a change of heart at the last minute.