Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71911 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71911 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
His dark eyes took me in with a note of sympathy.
“It was hard for me, but it didn’t seem hard for him.”
A heavy silence passed, his hard stare burning into my face. “This is one of those moments…”
“One of the moments, what?”
“Where you have to decide whether the truth is worth cruelty.”
I was in his soft bed that felt like a cloud, and whenever I was in the presence of this man, I was cocooned in safety. But now, I was in free fall once again. “What truth do you speak of?” My voice had been strong a moment ago, but now it wavered…like I didn’t want him to hear me.
His eyes shifted back and forth between mine, but he didn’t answer.
I didn’t ask the question again because I didn’t have the spine. A small part of me wanted the truth, but a bigger part of me wanted the lies if they were preferable. I was already broken…and another hit or bruise might make me irreparable.
He seemed to read the fear in my eyes because he didn’t pursue it. Instead, he pulled me close, my face planted into the top of his chest, and released a breath as he prepared to fall asleep.
Despite the weight in my heart, I drifted away into sleep, lighter than air.
After I finished work, I headed home to our villa in the city. I grabbed some groceries along the way then turned my key in the door and headed inside to the kitchen island. The two paper bags were set on the granite countertop, and I placed my purse beside them. I hadn’t been home in almost three days, and I couldn’t even remember what we had to eat around here.
“What did you get?”
“Jesus.” I nearly jumped out of my skin because I jolted so hard. I’d assumed the house was empty because Bolton didn’t usually come home until the evening. My hand immediately flew to my heart as if that was about to jump out of my skin too. “I-I didn’t expect you to be home so early.”
He came to my side. “I’ll give you a hand.” He pulled the items out of the bags and put them in the refrigerator and the cabinets.
It gave me a moment to compose myself, to accept the fact that I was in Bolton’s presence…and not Theo’s. I swore I could still smell Theo on me since my clothes had been at his place for almost three days. His scent was in my hair, on my skin. I wondered if Bolton could smell it too.
“How was the gallery?”
“Fine. How was…” How was killing someone? “How was work?”
“Fine.” He shut the fridge and looked at me head on for the first time. It was a long stare, not the intense one of longing he used to give me. This one felt perverse, like there was a secret behind my eyes that he wanted to dig for with a shovel. “What’s for dinner?”
“Citrus chicken and risotto,” I said automatically.
He nodded slowly but seemed disappointed, like he’d asked a different question that I hadn’t answered.
I waited for that hug, that embrace, but it never came. “Is something wrong?”
His stare continued with its sharp edges, plowing deep into my earth to prepare the soil for a new season.
I wasn’t sure why I asked the question because everything was wrong. Everything had been wrong for a while now. Ever since that horrible night when he’d punched the air right out of my lungs.
“No.” He leaned in and gave me a quick kiss on the lips.
All I could think about was the last woman he’d kissed…if it was someone new…another name to add to the list.
And Theo…the man I’d kissed goodbye before I went to work. He’d asked me to stay again, but I told him I couldn’t. He never showed his disappointment, but it was heavy in the air around him, the way an oven raised the temperature of the whole house by a few degrees.
“I need to finish some things in the study.” Bolton left the kitchen, left me to make dinner alone like the good little wife I was, and disappeared.
When he was gone, I stared at the fridge, thinking about all the things I did to make him happy. I went for a run every day to stay fit, I cooked all his favorite things, I wore the sluttiest lingerie to surprise him in the bedroom—but he still desired other women.
What could I have done differently? What could I have done better?
Nothing.
Fucking nothing.
He came down when dinner was ready, probably smelling the food once I pulled it out of the oven. I set the table with the dishes and flatware, along with an arrangement of flowers I’d put together myself. I didn’t expect a man to care about those things, but I hoped he would appreciate it.