Then his voice changed. The softness drained out of it like water through a crack. "What else do you want, Grazia? I'm trying to be nice, and you're rejecting me?"
He sat up. I felt the mattress shift. Felt the distance open between us like a wound.
"What happened to—" He mimicked my voice, high and eager, a cruel little imitation of the woman I'd been on our wedding night, the girl who had believed that love could grow in a house built on obligation. "'I don't care about your ex. You're mine now, and it's all that matters!'"
The words hung in the dark. My own words, thrown back at me like stones.
I heard him let out an exasperated sigh. The kind that said I am the reasonable one here. I am the one being patient.
"Can you quit acting like a jealous wife? I could've kept this from you. I didn't have to tell you anything. I could've handled it quietly, the way things are supposed to be handled in this family. But I chose to be transparent, because that's what husbands are supposed to do." His voice rose, just slightly. Just enough to cross the line between frustration and accusation. "Now here you are, giving me the silent treatment."