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“It’s beautiful,” I said truthfully. “Mostly I’ve only had time to see it from the window of a taxi, but there are pretty old churches everywhere. I saw shop windows full of hand embroidered tablecloths and doilies, and this gorgeous cut crystal they make here in every color of the rainbow.”

“How’s the food?” she asked.

“We just got here, so I haven’t had a chance to find out yet,” I said, purposely leaving out the part about my epic hangover that was still lingering. “But I read about these rolled up meringue pastries filled with oranges that I’m dying to try. I know this city is going to be really special.”

“Better than Vienna?”

I could hear the genuine eagerness in her voice. My father’s work hadn’t taken him out of the country often, and for all of Michelle’s homegrown southern roots, I knew she had an adventurous spirit and longed to see the world.

“Vienna was magic,” I sighed. “We went to the Opera House. It was like a palace. The singers had amazing voices. Every single person in the audience was enthralled. It was wonderful.”

It was nice that I didn’t have to lie about that. I held on to that memory, holding it up as an example of how things could be. Of how I wanted them to be.

“Lucky, lucky girl. How is…everything else?” Michelle asked, the real question obvious.

I was silent, struggling for the right words.

“Tori?” she prompted. “You still there? Everything okay?”

“Of course!” I lied cheerfully. “It’s just…all the running around. You know how it is. It’s just been exhausting. In fact, I should probably go take a nap.”

She let out a slow breath, and then said, “Tori, I’ve known you since you were two years old. You put on a hell of a happy face, but I can tell when something’s bothering you. Spill it.”

I paused, not sure how to explain that I still hadn’t consummated my marriage. I trusted her, but the last thing I wanted was detailed advice about how to seduce my husband, especially since I knew exactly who she’d used all her tips and tricks on. The mental images of her and my father were the absolute last thing I’d need while trying to lure Stefan into bed.

But the truth was, I did need help. And I didn’t have anyone else to turn to.

“Stefan’s not interested in sex,” I blurted out. “I mean, he is. Definitely. But not with me.”

This time the long pause came from her.

“Tell me what happened,” she finally said, spacing out her words carefully.

I took a deep breath, humiliated but desperate for advice. “I dressed up for him in the lingerie, just like you said, and I was ready and everything.” I was babbling, the words like a breaking dam. “Not just on our wedding night in Chicago, but again in Vienna too. But he was dead asleep by the time I came to bed the first night and I don’t think he even noticed the second time. He’s been totally ignoring me. He says he’s ‘working.’ He’salwaysworking.”

“Oh, honey. You’ve seen what it’s like at home with your father and me.”

“Yeah, but…I thought it would be different with us,” I admitted. “At least at first. We’re newlyweds.” I could barely keep the hurt out of my voice on the last sentence.

I hated this. I hated feeling like a little kid in my own marriage. Hated feeling like I didn’t have any control over what was happening.

“You knew what this was going to be,” Michelle reminded me. “Stefan is like your father—his work is always going to come first. You understand how it goes. And you need to respect that.”

“I do,” I argued, absently tugging the ends of my hair with frustration. “And I’m not trying to keep him from his work…”

“You’re not?” Michelle asked, her voice gentle.

I thought for a moment. “I’m not trying to.”

“I believe you,” Michelle’s voice held no judgment. “But even if you’re not intentionally distracting him, you’re not helping either. That’s our job. We’re supposed to make our husbands’ lives easier.”

I knew she was right. I had done a variation of that for my father my entire life, always putting his needs first. Somehow, I had thought it would be different with Stefan. That he would want me to be more than just a warm smile and attentive ear at the end of the day. I thought we’d have something we could share.

“You need to rethink the way you approach him,” Michelle said. “The way you communicate. You can’t be one more thing he has to deal with—one more thing that requires his work and attention. You have to give him what he needs, when he needs it.”

“How do I even know what that is?” I asked, feeling frustrated. “He won’t tell me.”

“He shouldn’t have to,” Michelle reprimanded me. “You need to take the initiative in your relationship. Figure out exactly what he needs, and be the person who gives it to him.”