Wives Behind The Scene

It's Part Of My Job

Maya

The bedroom door clicked open. The mattress dipped under his weight, bringing a wave of expensive cedarwood cologne and stage makeup that choked out the hospital soap on my skin.

Calvin’s lips pressed against my neck. His heavy arm slid over my waist, pulling me flush against his chest.

"Maya," he murmured, his voice thick with late-night exhaustion. "I'm so sorry. The director kept resetting the final setup."

My body locked. I grabbed his forearm, yanked it off my waist, and stepped completely out of the bed.

Calvin groaned, propping himself up on one elbow as the bedside lamp clicked on, flooding the room in low amber. "Maya? Come on. Don't be like that. I hurried home the second they called wrap."

"Leo’s fever was a hundred and three, Calvin," I said, arms crossed tightly over my chest. "He wouldn't open his eyes. I was holding him, and he felt like he was burning alive."

"And the doctor said it was a standard viral bug, right?" He rubbed his face, yawning.

"The card declined at the counter," I snapped, stepping closer to the bed. "The receptionist looked at me like a beggar, Marvin was sobbing on the floor, and when I finally reached you, you told me you were too busy with a scene."

Calvin sighed, sliding a hand through his perfect hair. "Maya, it’s a closed set. Every hour we go over budget costs the studio tens of thousands. I couldn't just walk off the floor because you grabbed the wrong plastic card."

"I am done grabbing plastic cards!" I slammed my hand down on the dresser, the perfume bottles rattling. "I am done living like a ghost in this house, begging for a replenished account! I want my life back, Calvin. I am going back to work."

The easy, apologetic look on Calvin’s face hardened. He lowered his legs over the side of the bed, sitting up straight. "We talked about this. You don't need to work, Maya. Look around you. You live in a mansion. Anything you or the boys need, I pay for it."

"I don't want you paying for my existence!" I walked right up to him, looking down into his face. "I am a full-time servant in my own life. I wash your clothes, I raise your kids, I hide in the suburbs so your PR team can market you as an eligible bachelor. You are at the top of the world, Calvin, and I am buried underneath it. I used to be on stage. I used to audition. I used to be the one under the lights, and now I’m just the nanny you sleep with."

"It's the industry, Maya!" he barked, standing up to match my height. "My career is at its peak. If the public finds out I have a wife and kids, the romantic fantasy drops. The tickets stop selling."

"Then let them drop!" I yelled. "Why do I have to freeze my life so you can live yours? I want to be at the top too. I want my own name on a marquee again. I am tired of watching you play the roles I should be auditioning for while I drown in laundry!"

Trying to break the tension, Calvin stepped into my space. He reached out, his expression melting into a practiced, charming warmth. "Hey. Come here. You're just exhausted."

He pulled me against his chest. I didn't wrap my arms around him. My eyes stared blankly over his shoulder.

Right above the collar of his white undershirt, on the left side of his neck, was a dark, purple-red bruise. A fresh hickey.

I shoved him backward with all my strength. He stumbled against the bedposts.

"What is that?" I pointed at his neck, my finger shaking.

Calvin’s hand flew up to cover the mark. His eyes widened before his face flattened into a smooth smile. "Oh. That. It's nothing, babe. We were filming the intimate sequence for the climax tonight. The lead actress got a little too intense with the blocking. It's just a mark from the staging."

"You swore to me," I whispered, the heat instantly draining into cold fury. "The day we got married, you gave me your word. No intimate scenes. Your boundaries were non-negotiable."

"It's part of the job!" he shouted, turning away in irritation. "The industry changed. If I start demanding clauses to rewrite the romance, they’ll just hire someone else. You’re overthinking things."

"I am finally thinking clearly," I said, wiping a single tear from my cheek.

Calvin muttered under his breath, walking back to the bed. As he reached for the blanket, his hand caught on a thick stack of bound white pages resting on the nightstand—an old audition monologue, heavily highlighted and worn at the edges.

"What's this?" He picked it up.

"Don't touch that!" I lunged forward, snatching the script straight out of his hands. I shoved it deep into the nightstand drawer and slammed it shut with a loud click.

I climbed into the opposite side of the bed, turning my back completely toward him, staring into the dark corner of the bedroom.

Calvin shifted beside me. His hand slid back over my hip, his fingers aggressively gripping my waist as he leaned in. He pressed his face into the back of my neck, his hands moving upward to touch my breasts, his fingers sliding down the skin of my laps.

"Maya, come on," he whispered, his breath hot against my ear. He paused, his nose wrinkling. "Why does your hair smell unwashed? You usually smell like jasmine."

I stayed completely still, like a statue. I didn't move and I couldn't breathe.

Calvin let out a sharp grunt, pulling away. He rolled to his side and snapped off the lamp, plunging the room into absolute darkness. "Goodnight, Maya," he snapped.

Within three minutes, the heavy, rhythmic sound of his snoring filled the room.

I lay wide awake in the dark, tears soaking into the pillowcase. I turned around to look at the silhouette of the man who had everything I had ever wanted for myself.

The temptation to just close my eyes and let the anger go was overwhelming, but the cold reality of the evening still throbbed in my chest.

"He didn't even ask how I paid for the hospital bills," I whispered to the dark room.

The silence didn't answer back. Still, the deep, aching need for comfort won.

I gave into the temptation, moving across the mattress to snuggle into his arms, burying myself in the familiar warmth I craved every night.

He stirred slightly at my movement, his body instinctively shifting to pull me closer. He bent down, pressed a soft, half-asleep peck to my cheek, and then drifted straight back to sleep, his breathing instantly deepening.