“I don’t know,” I say, unsure he’s reading me right.

“Ever since we began talking, all you have done is look at my lips every other second.”

“No,” I disagree, but I can’t know for sure because I did want to kiss him all that time.

“Yes,” he says playfully and pulls me close to him.

He holds me for a while, and then someone over the comms interrupts our moment.

He gets lets go of me and sits up. “Yes.”

“Your delivery from ….”

He cuts them off. “Yes, bring it in.”

Then my Commander gets up, puts on his black robe, and walks out, closing the doors I’ve never seen him use to the bedroom. A couple of minutes later, I hear some muffled voices in the other room, but I can’t make out anything they are saying. I quickly get out of bed naked and go to the door to see if I can hear better, but I can’t. I try to open the door, but it’s locked.

This is odd because I had his access code even as his valet. I try to open the door again, and I can’t. He returns a few minutes later, and I’m sitting in bed.

“Why did you lock me in?”

“I did not,” he says.

“I couldn’t get out.”

“Were you naked?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“That is why you could not get out. Modesty controls,” he explains. “I am glad to know you have never been naked in my quarters without me.”

“Only in my dreams,” I say seductively, and he jumps back onto the bed next to me.

“You are serious, aren’t you?”

I nod.

“Tell me.”

Since we are married, there’s no harm in telling him about my dream. “A few months ago, I dreamt that I was masturbating in your bed, and then you came in for something you’d forgotten, and then we had sex.”

“Will you show me?”

“I want to know what’s in the other room,” I say.

I can see by the look on his face that he can’t decide which one he wants to show me more. What is in the other room or to insist I masturbate in front of him. Whatever the surprise is in the other room wins out. “Later, I want you to show me your fantasy,” he commands.

“I will,” I promise. I put on an identical black robe to his and then follow him into the other room.

There are boxes of all colors and shapes, and sizes on the tables. Maybe twenty or thirty of them. “What are these?” I ask.

“Your jewelry as my wife,” he replies. “And the money for marrying me has been deposited into your GC account. I will not touch it, and you can use it to buy whatever you want.”

I know this is his culture, but I can’t help but feel like he bought me.

“What is the matter?”

“It’s just different,” I say, unable to articulate what I’m feeling without ruining this for him. But a voice from a place I didn’t even know was still alive inside of me asks, But what about you? Then I say, “Could you please show me these yourself?”