As a matter of fact, last night he’d held me in his arms and told me everything he loved about me, assuring me that our marriage would be the greatest accomplishment of his life.
“Miss Gracen?” Dr. Choate snapped me out of my thoughts. “You’re not writing anything down. Don’t be afraid to unleash your honesty. You have to let him know exactly how you feel. How else can you expect your bad intimacy to change to good intimacy? Unless you want to experience bad sex for the rest of your life that is. I know you only said ‘twenty’ because he said it first.” He winked at me and then whispered, “It’s okay. We’re going to fix this.”
Jesus...
I rolled my eyes and wrote down a few words so it would seem like I was trying. When I looked over at Jonathan again, I realized he was still writing.
He has that much to say?!
“Time’s up!” Dr. Choate beamed. “Now, before we feed the fire, we’re going to exchange the cards and read them out loud.”
What?! “No...I can’t.” I started to crumple mine in my hand. “I didn’t know that was going to happen. I would’ve written something else...”
“What’s wrong, dear?” Jonathan smirked and held his card out to me. “I thought we were working on having honest expectations for our marriage.”
I sighed and handed him my crumpled card, taking his into my hands, not bothering to look at it.
“Mr. Statham, you first.” Doctor Choate smiled. “What’s the one thing your future wife would change about your current intimacy?”
Jonathan looked down at the card, then he looked back up at me—smiling with his eyebrow raised.
Please don’t read it out loud...Please don’t read it out loud...
“She says better communication.” He smiled even wider and I exhaled, relieved.
“And what about you, future wife? What did your future husband have to say about you?
I flipped the card over and forced myself to look at it: Dear Future Wife, the only thing I wish I could change was letting you wake up late this morning because I should’ve woken you up early, taken you in the shower, and made you forget about this dumb ass meeting. However, now that we’re here, I want you to be fully aware that right after this is over, I’m going to make sure the words “marriage counseling” and “intimacy problems” never come out of your mouth again. :-)
I blushed. “He says the same thing.”
“Okay, well great. Now we’re getting somewhere. Communication is very key in having a successful intimate relationship. Moving on... In an average week, how many times do you currently have sex now, future wife? And in all honesty, is it fulfilling?”
Is he f**king serious? “A few times,” I said, hoping he would move on to something else.
“A few times?” Jonathan looked into my eyes. “That’s what you honestly think?”
Stop it...I knew he was reading my mind right now and could sense that I wanted him to stop, but he was clearly enjoying my embarrassment.
“Doctor, what classifies as a few times?” Jonathan kept his eyes locked on mine.
“Two or three times a week, Mr. Statham.”
“Hmmm...And a lot?”
“Well, I guess I would say eight to ten times a week.”
“Interesting.” He leaned forward and ran his fingers across my golden anchor necklace. “So Claire, having heard that, you think a few times is accurate for what we do?”
“Yes. I do.” I didn’t want the doctor in our sex life. At all. When I’d made this appointment, I’d been assured that the focus would be on us discussing our expectations for the long term—our goals and our dreams. There was no mention of dissecting what we did in the bedroom and I was damn sure I never said anything about “intimacy problems.”
“I am so hurt by these claims, Doctor.” Jonathan put his hand over his chest. “I mean, to have the love of my life tell me that she feels like we only have sex a few times a week is just...Is this the part where I’m allowed to cry?”
“Yes, Mr. Statham. Let out all of your pain.”
He smirked. “Is our sex not memorable to you, Claire? It must not be if you think we only have sex two to three times a week. I want an honest marriage as well, so if you think we have intimacy problems and that our sex is that terrible—”
“We have sex every day.” I nearly lost it. “Every. Day. Sometimes more than once. Sometimes more than twice. And every time is f**king memorable. Happy?” I narrowed my eyes at him and he kissed my cheek.
“Um...” The doctor adjusted the sleeves of his tunic. “Well...I....Very good for both of you. Let’s move away from intimacy then, shall we?”
“Thank you.” We both said in unison.