He’d try to hedge. “Why does it matter? I have you now, and Clarissa. That’s the only family that matters.”

One night, when Ree was five months old, and sleeping well, I was feeling edgy and restless, the way a nineteen-year-old girl does when she’s sitting across from a dark, handsome man and she’s looking at his hands and thinking about how gently they can cradle a newborn baby. Then thinking, much more importantly, how they might feel on her naked breasts, I found myself approaching the matter much more directly.

“Truth or dare,” I said.

He finally looked up from the paperback he was reading. “What?”

“Truth or dare. You know, like the game. Surely when you were a teenager you played Truth or Dare.”

Jason stared at me, his dark eyes as fathomless as always. “I’m not a teenager.”

“I am.”

That seemed to finally get his attention. He closed the book, set it down. “What do you want, Sandra?”

“Truth or dare. Just pick. It’s not so hard. Truth or dare.” I sidled closer to him. I had bathed after putting Ree down for the night. Then I smoothed an orange-scented lotion all over my body. It was a subtle scent, light, clean, but I knew he caught it, because his nostrils flared, just a fraction, then he leaned away.

“Sandra …”

“Play with me, Jason. I’m your wife. It’s not too much to ask.”

He was going to do it. I could tell by the way he steeled his spine, squared his shoulders. He had been putting me off for months. Surely he realized at a certain point he’d have to acknowledge me somehow. It couldn’t all be about Ree.

“Dare,” he said at last.

“Kiss me,” I ordered. “For one minute.”

He hesitated. I thought he’d renege, and I braced myself for the rejection. But then he sighed, ever so softly. He leaned forward, puckered up, and touched his mouth to mine.

He was going to be chaste about it. I knew him well enough by then to anticipate. And I knew that if I tried to be aggressive or demanding, he would shut down. Jason never yelled. Jason never raised his hand in rage. He simply disappeared, someplace deep inside him where nothing I said or did seemed to reach him, until I could be standing right beside him, and I would still be alone.

My husband respected me. He treated me kindly. He showered me with compassion. He did his best to anticipate my every need.

Except when it came to sex. We had been together nearly a year now, and he had yet to lay a single hand on me. It was driving me crazy.