husband has a few surprises up his sleeve, you know.”
A pparently , another one of those surprises was his ability to share a bed with his wife for four nights of their honeymoon and not manage to touch her once.
I didn’t know why Bennett was holding back. We’d already had sex. I remembered enough from that night to know that. Was he trying to be gentlemanly? Was he waiting for me to make the first move? Maybe he was waiting for me to actually remember our wedding?
Whatever it was, even if I made an attempt to initiate something, he pulled away—albeit seemingly with great reluctance. Yet, I was still getting to know him so well in so many other ways as we spent day after day together. We’d practically created a commune here, and there was a part of me that wanted to stay here with Layla forever. Forget about Hollywood, forget about acting.
It was easy enough to put my past life out of my mind. The ranch didn’t get any TV reception, and Bennett didn’t have cable, so I hadn’t seen anything in the news about me. Not after my phone’s battery died the first day and I decided not to bother recharging it. I didn’t want to have to face anything outside this beautiful bubble we’d created. Eventually I would have to face the real world again, but for at least a little while I was content to ignore it.
Besides, even if we weren’t having sex, there were other distractions. Bennett was romantic. He’d surprise me with wildflowers or have River fill our meals with anything I even mentioned liking or having a craving for. We spent most evenings cuddling by the fire pit on the patio, until Layla and River disappeared, and then we’d tumble (platonically) into our own bed. Still, I was a little bitter that my assistant was having more sex on my honeymoon than I was.
He woke me one morning with a thermos of coffee and two enormous blueberry muffins, fresh from the oven, if the steam rising from them was any indication.
“Come on,” he said. “Can’t come to a ranch without riding horses.”
I’d been past the stables several times since I arrived, but I hadn’t ventured inside. I wasn’t sure if these were the kind of horses you could ride or if you needed a special jockey license for them.
It turned out that all of Bennett’s horses were former thoroughbred racers, now retired to a life of Western riding and lazily grazing in the sweet mountain grass.
“Domino,” Bennett said, as he led me to one of the stalls. Inside was an impressive specimen, white with black spots that did look a bit like a domino. “I mean, the guy who sold him to me had some long ass name for him, but Domino seems to like his new nickname well enough, don’t you, boy?”
Domino whinnied softly, shaking his mane.
“He’s big, but he’s sweet,” Bennett assured me. “He’ll be an easy ride for you.”
“Now here’s….”
Bennett trailed off as he started explaining the tack to me, watching as I reached for Domino’s lead rope and tied it to the post.
“Brush?” I said, holding out my hand once the rope was secure. Bennett wordlessly handed me the brush, and I started grooming the big horse, speaking softly to him as I worked. I’d learned to ride for the second season of Wild Rovers, for a small set of episodes where the family had visited a dude ranch. For realism, the handlers had taught us how to groom and tack our own horses.
Once I’d gotten the saddle and bridle into place and was stroking the bridge of Domino’s nose, Bennett let out a low whistle. “How come you didn’t tell me you could ride?” he asked, and I shrugged, smiling.
“Your wife has a few surprises up her sleeve too,” I said, swinging into the saddle.
W e rode up a trail behind the main house that led into the mountains. Bennett told me more about his family, about their summers here. I talked about the few family vacations we’d gone on before my career had started to take up too much of our time.
At about lunchtime, we
A pparently , another one of those surprises was his ability to share a bed with his wife for four nights of their honeymoon and not manage to touch her once.
I didn’t know why Bennett was holding back. We’d already had sex. I remembered enough from that night to know that. Was he trying to be gentlemanly? Was he waiting for me to make the first move? Maybe he was waiting for me to actually remember our wedding?
Whatever it was, even if I made an attempt to initiate something, he pulled away—albeit seemingly with great reluctance. Yet, I was still getting to know him so well in so many other ways as we spent day after day together. We’d practically created a commune here, and there was a part of me that wanted to stay here with Layla forever. Forget about Hollywood, forget about acting.
It was easy enough to put my past life out of my mind. The ranch didn’t get any TV reception, and Bennett didn’t have cable, so I hadn’t seen anything in the news about me. Not after my phone’s battery died the first day and I decided not to bother recharging it. I didn’t want to have to face anything outside this beautiful bubble we’d created. Eventually I would have to face the real world again, but for at least a little while I was content to ignore it.
Besides, even if we weren’t having sex, there were other distractions. Bennett was romantic. He’d surprise me with wildflowers or have River fill our meals with anything I even mentioned liking or having a craving for. We spent most evenings cuddling by the fire pit on the patio, until Layla and River disappeared, and then we’d tumble (platonically) into our own bed. Still, I was a little bitter that my assistant was having more sex on my honeymoon than I was.
He woke me one morning with a thermos of coffee and two enormous blueberry muffins, fresh from the oven, if the steam rising from them was any indication.
“Come on,” he said. “Can’t come to a ranch without riding horses.”
I’d been past the stables several times since I arrived, but I hadn’t ventured inside. I wasn’t sure if these were the kind of horses you could ride or if you needed a special jockey license for them.
It turned out that all of Bennett’s horses were former thoroughbred racers, now retired to a life of Western riding and lazily grazing in the sweet mountain grass.
“Domino,” Bennett said, as he led me to one of the stalls. Inside was an impressive specimen, white with black spots that did look a bit like a domino. “I mean, the guy who sold him to me had some long ass name for him, but Domino seems to like his new nickname well enough, don’t you, boy?”
Domino whinnied softly, shaking his mane.
“He’s big, but he’s sweet,” Bennett assured me. “He’ll be an easy ride for you.”
“Now here’s….”
Bennett trailed off as he started explaining the tack to me, watching as I reached for Domino’s lead rope and tied it to the post.
“Brush?” I said, holding out my hand once the rope was secure. Bennett wordlessly handed me the brush, and I started grooming the big horse, speaking softly to him as I worked. I’d learned to ride for the second season of Wild Rovers, for a small set of episodes where the family had visited a dude ranch. For realism, the handlers had taught us how to groom and tack our own horses.
Once I’d gotten the saddle and bridle into place and was stroking the bridge of Domino’s nose, Bennett let out a low whistle. “How come you didn’t tell me you could ride?” he asked, and I shrugged, smiling.
“Your wife has a few surprises up her sleeve too,” I said, swinging into the saddle.
W e rode up a trail behind the main house that led into the mountains. Bennett told me more about his family, about their summers here. I talked about the few family vacations we’d gone on before my career had started to take up too much of our time.
At about lunchtime, we
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