Blasphemy - Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Another late night at work.

Draped in exhaustion, you turned off the last light in the office, pressed the elevator button, and could not wait to drive out of the company’s underground parking garage.

By the time you got home, it was already midnight.

Your husband was still awake.

The living room was dim. Arlo sat alone on the sofa, staring blankly at the moon beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows.

The sound of the door opening startled him back to himself.

“Arlo.”

You set down your bag and called his name softly, tentative. Your husband’s name was the only Spanish you knew.

Almost immediately, you got an answer.

“Baby, I’m here.”

At that, you switched on the light.

The whole world seemed to brighten because you had come home.

Your beloved stood in the living room, looking at you gently. His features were exquisite, softness and sharpness blended in perfect measure.

Even after seeing him countless times, you still had to sigh at how unfair God was.

Arlo was a beauty in every sense of the word.

A rather extraordinary one.

He clearly had a terrifying body corded with muscle, yet every inch of his skin was as smooth and pale as milk. Beneath his strong brow bones were a pair of clear, quiet eyes. When they looked at you, they were just like two pieces of pale green amber.

His eyes were truly captivating, and his lips were wonderful to kiss.

The long, slightly wavy blond hair draped over his shoulders and back gave him another kind of allure, not to mention that even his lashes were a beautiful light gold.

Like Michael, the archangel from Western mythology whom you had been utterly obsessed with as a young girl.

Back then, you never would have imagined that when you grew up, you would have a husband as handsome, gentle, loyal, and kind as Michael.

Now, your husband was walking toward you.

“Baby, are you very hungry?”

Arlo took the car keys from your hand and gave you a hug. After three years of learning Chinese, his articulation was still a little clumsy, his pronunciation slow and uneven to the ear.

In truth, you had told him many times that he could just speak English.

But Arlo was stubborn.

He insisted on learning and trying to communicate with you in your mother tongue, because he believed that was the only way to be closer to your heart.

You felt a little guilty.

How to put it? You had never once thought of learning Spanish for his sake. Even now, all you had learned was how to call his name in Spanish. You did not even know how to pronounce “I love you.”

In fact, you had never said those words to him in English or in your own language.

You were Chinese to your bones.

Your parents had been reserved and restrained their entire lives, and you had surpassed them. When it came to expressing emotion, your first reaction was always, How embarrassing. Then you would swallow your awkwardness and pretend nothing was wrong.

And so, you had never responded to Arlo’s love.

This could not be blamed entirely on you. Arlo’s feelings were simply too pure, too sincere. So pure and sincere that there was no desire in them at all, leaving you at a loss for how to respond.

If he had been a lively, restless partner, you might have naturally found him annoying and kept a certain distance from him, giving both of you room to breathe.

But Arlo just had to be gentle.

He had given up everything of his own, crossed the ocean with you to Huaguo, and willingly become your househusband. He supported you silently from behind and never asked for anything in return.

Just like now. Faced with you only coming home in the middle of the night, his first reaction was not resentment, but a thoughtful question about whether you were hungry or tired.

You forced yourself to rally and gave him a smile. “I want to take a shower first.”

“Go ahead.”

Arlo bent down and kissed your forehead tenderly. “I’ll go heat up the food.”

His voice was so gentle, so pleasant to hear.

Sleepiness surged over you.

You forced yourself through a hot shower. When you returned to the bedroom and saw the warm bed, you could not resist lying down.

So sleepy.

You wanted to sleep.

You could not stop your eyes from closing.

Ten minutes later, Arlo came to the bedroom after heating the food. When he saw you sunken into sleep, the smile on his face froze.

Again.

Another night without conversation, without kisses, without embraces. This was the twenty-seventh day this month.

He had already lived like this for twenty-seven days!

Panic and unease drove Arlo to the bedside. He bent over and quietly gazed at your sleeping face.

His lashes abruptly grew wet.

He wanted to cry. He wanted to wrap his arms tightly around you, then tell you how wronged he felt during all these days of being neglected by the one he loved.

But when he saw the dark circles beneath your eyes, he chose restraint in the end.

“Darling…”

Swallowing down his hurt, Arlo knelt by the bed and covered his face in pain. His broad shoulders and back trembled in the air, looking resilient, yet fragile beyond measure.

“Darling… Do you love me?”

From the day he had met you, that question had lingered in his heart for so long, but he had never dared to ask you for an answer.

Let it be like this.

He thought, It’s all right, baby. It’s enough that I love you.

Arlo gazed at your sleeping face in infatuation. The edge of his apron lifted uncontrollably, the fabric dampening slightly.

He was very hungry.

It was so ravenous that it was drooling too.

But he did not dare show you his original, hideous face. That would only earn your disgust.

His beautiful fingers moved deftly as Arlo took off the apron and tossed it aside. His knees rubbed against the carpet as his whole body drew closer and closer to you.

“Baby…”

If he was gentle, would you not notice?