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I sigh, quietly close the book, and set it to the side, knowing that I’m just delaying the inevitable. Still, I take the time to tuck in Mr. Fluffernut beside her, straighten the blankets, press one last kiss to my precious girl’s forehead before slipping back out into the hall, closing the door behind me.
And yup, he’s right there.
Right fucking there.
Sighing, I start to move by him but he doesn’t let me, taking my arm in a firm grip.
I don’t fight him—not there in the hall where we might wake Rox—just allow him to draw me into my bedroom, to close the door behind him.
“Let me go,” I growl.
“No,” he snaps. “No fucking way.” He turns us, pins me back against the wall. “What the fuck did you say?”
“About why you divorced me? About the secret you’re clearly hiding?”
His expression is stark, but his eyes burn with fury. “No, baby.” He drops his head, locks our gazes together. “About me having a girlfriend.”
My brows snap together and I feel outrage. “Tiffany is a nice woman and she deserves better.” I lift my chin. “As you well know.”
“Tiff is a nice woman, but”—his eyes flash—“baby, when have I ever said that Tiff was my girlfriend?”
“She’s—” I break off, doubt creeping into my heart.
“When?” he presses.
I blink.
“When?”
I finally manage to stumble out, “I-I’ve seen her over at your place for dinner with your parents. She took Roxie for mani-pedis, picked her up from school, from practice.”
“And?”
“And,” I whisper, throat tight. “I saw you two all over each other on your porch.”
“I know.” He steps closer, the front of his body pressing, thighs to chest, to mine. “But. When. Have. I. Ever. Said. Tiff. Is. My. Girlfriend?”
I freeze then, the hope I’d set aside blooming unbidden inside me. “What?”
His hand lifts and I can’t help it.
I flinch.
Remembering all the hurts, all the times the tender feelings in my belly were crushed beneath the heel of his boot.
He hesitates, palm just inches from my skin, and then he’s touching me.
Lightly, softly, the barest stroke of his fingers over my jaw. “She’s not my girlfriend, baby,” he murmurs and that hope grows further, until it’s pressing all along the inside of my torso, my rib cage. “She never has been, never will be.” He shifts, drawing nearer, cupping my cheek, tilting my face up so all I see is him.
Not Stefan Barie, cold and untouchable.
But Stefan Barie, the husband I knew. The man who loves every single part of me, warts and all. The person who became my safe space.
Who is the other half of my soul.
It’s…too much.
Those feelings. The love in my heart. The pain of knowing it’s going to go away again.
