Started as His Wife (ON HIATUS)

Anywhere But

Vincent's POV

Poking my head out of the bathroom door, I look out into the room to find Wendy. 

"Wendy, can you please get me a towel?" I call out. 

"Vin-" I hear her voice start to call out, but it's interrupted by Fern's piercing cry. 

Shit. I've fucked up. 

"Shhhh, shhh," Wendy coos, trying to calm Fern back down. "Please go back to sleep. Please," Wendy pleads. 

Ever since we had Fern, I spend mornings with Fern for Wendy to go open shop. While I'm at work, she's with Fern again until I get home, and then it's back to the bakery to clean. When she's done, we get to eat dinner before getting ready for bed. At this point, we're co-inhabitants of this place we call home, but it doesn't feel like it without seeing her. If I wasn't so exhausted from Fern waking up in the middle of the night and work, I wouldn't spend the nighttime sleeping but looking at Wendy. 

I'm dripping wet with not a single towel in sight. With no other choice, I try to sneak out the bathroom without Wendy seeing, but of course she is still in the bedroom, pacing back and forth and bouncing Fern gently in her arms. At first, her sharp glare shoot straight into my eyes, but it traces down my bare body and I cower, trying to cover myself with my hands. 

Rummaging through the laundry baskets, I find a fresh towel, roughly wipe myself down, and quickly wrap it around my waist. Silently, I approach Wendy and hold my arms out. She carefully places Fern into my cradling arms and steps back with a slow sigh. After pulling another fresh towel out of the basket, Wendy takes one last glance at Fern and me before slipping into the bathroom. 

Shit. Shit. Shit... She's irritated.

Luckily, after some more rocking in my arms, accompanied by light humming, Fern slumps back into sleep, and I'm able to place her back into the crib in her nursery without disturbance. With careful steps, I weave around the slew of laundry, opened boxes of diapers, bags of baby supplies, and toys laid on the carpet like landmines. One wrong move would wake up Fern, and she's louder than any bomb going off. 

I make it safely back to the closet in the master bedroom to acquire a pair of boxers. As I slip into them, the bathroom door swings open. Wendy is standing there with the damp hairs swept to one side. Excess water drips down her neck and glistens on her collarbone from reflecting the stream of light from the bathroom. She's gripping the ends of the towel together to keep it wrapped around her, something she's always done because she always said her chest was too small to keep the towel from slipping down, and she still does it habitually despite them swelling from pregnancy. I've always preferred it this way anyways. This way, the towel gently drapes the curves of her body perfectly, but never got to tightly hug her. Only I get to hug her that tightly!

The heat rises in my body, warming me so much I forget I'm only in boxers. Wendy saunters past me with a diverted eyes, and I'm reminded she's still in a bad mood. I sigh and turn around, ready to apologize for earlier, until my eyes are entranced by the sight of her again. With one hand still holding her towel, Wendy is on her toes, hopping slightly and outstretching the other arm to reach the top shelf of the closet. With every hop, the towel lifts up and reveals the back of her upper thoughts, and I feel my supply of oxygen get cut off. I look off to the side and try to catch my breath again.

Why're you getting embarrassed? She's your wife. But at the same time...how is she your wife? This beautiful goddess of a woman? I want to look again—no! Your perverted eyes are undeserving...and they're moving on their own. Thighs...wow. 

Wendy huffs and stops momentarily to readjust her towel. She looks back and I flinch. 

"Why are you smiling like that?" she asks me with a piercing glare.