Chapter 10: Wedding night [18+]

[NO ONE UNDER 18 ADMITTED. 18++. CAUTION!]

The night settled heavily in the hotel suite, the luxurious surroundings doing little to dispel the lingering tension. Evelyn lay beside Earl, her thoughts tangled between the reality of their situation and the faint hope that maybe, just maybe, they could find a way to bridge the growing distance.

Moonlight streamed through the half-drawn curtains, casting soft, silvery light across the room. The lines of Evelyn's silk nightgown shimmered in the dim light, an elegance that contrasted with the uncertainty weighing on her heart.

Earl lay next to her, his breathing shallow but steady. He hadn't said much after returning to the room. Even though he was in bed, the faint haze of alcohol still clung to him, amplifying his exhaustion but dulling his emotions. Evelyn glanced over at him, concern furrowing her brow. The day's events—his detachment, the awkward silence—had worn him down. But as much as she wanted to give him space, a deeper part of her stirred. She couldn't help it. She needed to try to connect with him, even if it felt impossible.

She moved closer, her hand reaching out to gently brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead. Earl stirred, his eyes slowly opening, his expression one of vague confusion. His gaze settled on her, and for a fleeting second, something passed between them. Not warmth, but vulnerability, the kind of unguarded moment that made her think maybe he wasn't as unreachable as he seemed.

"Earl," Evelyn said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. He blinked at her, not really responding, just watching her, his face unreadable.

She hesitated, unsure if she should keep pushing. But the need to feel some kind of closeness, some kind of acknowledgment that they were both here, in this marriage together, outweighed her doubts. Slowly, her fingers traced down his arm, the touch tentative, searching for any sign of reciprocation.

He didn't pull away.

"Evelyn," he mumbled, his voice thick with a mix of exhaustion and something else—something less certain. "I didn't think…"

Before he could finish, she pressed a finger to his lips. "It's okay," she whispered, her voice gentle but firm. "We don't need to talk right now. Just… let's be here. Together."

She leaned in, kissing him softly, her lips lingering on his with a tenderness she hoped would stir something in him.

His response was slow, hesitant, but he didn't push her away. His arms came around her, but it wasn't with the same eagerness she longed for—it felt more like a reflex, something he did because it was easier than rejecting her outright.

The kiss deepened, but it wasn't passionate. There was no heat, no desperate longing between them. Earl's touch was measured, almost mechanical, as if he was going through the motions without really being present. But Evelyn didn't let that stop her. She tried to pour her emotions into the kiss, hoping that somehow, through sheer will, she could pull him closer, break through the wall he'd built between them.

Her hands moved to his chest, unbuttoning his shirt with slow, deliberate movements. She wanted to take her time, to show him she cared, that she was here for him. But as she undressed him, it became clear that Earl wasn't really responding. He allowed her to do it, but there was no eagerness, no shared urgency. His gaze stayed distant, his mind clearly elsewhere.

When they were finally undressed, lying bare next to each other, the vulnerability of the moment hit Evelyn hard. She searched his face for any sign of connection, any indication that this meant something to him. But Earl's expression remained guarded, cold even. His eyes didn't hold the warmth she craved. Instead, they were focused on the act, distant, as if he was just getting through it.

Evelyn swallowed her disappointment, pushing it down. She wasn't going to give up, not tonight. She moved closer, her body pressing against his, her hands exploring his skin with a tenderness that felt increasingly one-sided. Earl responded in kind, but it was restrained, his touch careful, almost detached.

Their bodies intertwined, but the physical closeness only highlighted the emotional distance between them. Evelyn tried to lose herself in the moment, to focus on the sensations, but Earl's lack of engagement made it impossible. His movements were slow, deliberate, but not driven by desire. It felt transactional—something he was doing because it was expected, not because he wanted to.

The room was quiet, filled only with the soft sounds of their breaths and the rustle of the sheets. Evelyn's moans were muted, almost uncertain, as if she wasn't sure whether to let herself fully feel the moment or retreat into her own disappointment. Earl barely made a sound, his focus clearly elsewhere, his mind still closed off from her.

When it was over, they lay side by side in silence. Earl turned away slightly, his body tense, his breathing slow and even. Evelyn stayed close, but the weight of the unresolved tension between them hung heavy in the air. She wanted to say something, to break through the thick silence that had settled between them, but the words wouldn't come.

"Thank you," Earl finally muttered, his voice low, but devoid of real emotion. "For… being here."

Evelyn's heart sank at his words. They felt hollow, like an obligatory acknowledgment rather than genuine gratitude. She leaned over, kissing his cheek softly, hoping it would convey the affection she was struggling to find in his cold demeanor. "I'm here," she whispered, more to herself than to him. "We'll figure this out. We'll make it work."

But as she lay beside him, the warmth of his body doing little to ease the chill in the room, Evelyn couldn't shake the growing realization that Earl's heart wasn't really in it. He was there physically, but emotionally, he remained distant, locked behind walls she wasn't sure she could break through.

The night stretched on, their breaths in sync but their minds miles apart, the gulf between them growing wider with every passing second. Evelyn closed her eyes, trying to ignore the gnawing doubt creeping into her thoughts. She had to keep trying—because if she didn't, what else was there?