and her face looks as though it was hand-carved out of porcelain by God. Her hair is twisted into a dark crown atop her head, secured with metallic pins. Her eyes are like a cat’s, but not a house cat, no, definitely not. Like those of a tiger that has been left to go hungry for far too long. I will her to continue talking and not look at me with those eyes again. We sip our tea in unison, upholding our masquerade as ladies. She takes in a breath.
He said he loved me, and at the beginning I believed it. He may have loved me. He certainly desired me. I think mostly he loved seeing the desire and jealousy of other men when he told them I was his wife. But that got old fast. So did I, in his eyes. When it had been a year and I still had not given him a child, I turned ugly to him and he acted ugly accordingly.