“No!”
Lost in the moment, I don’t hear the approaching footsteps.
“Aren’t you two cozy?” Ivy stands in the doorway, scanning our faces. “Who’s this Duchess?” She crosses the room, eyes darting between us before settling next to James. One hand drapes casually around his neck.
“I couldn’t sleep. Sydney was kind enough to let me hang out. I was telling some silly story from high school.” He shifts, gaining some space between their bodies.
“Wow, I didn’t realize how late it was.” I’m already gathering Anna’s sleeping form into my arms. “I should get some sleep before she wakes again. Goodnight.”
As I walk away, Ivy whispers, “Will you come to bed?”
Jealousy rises, sharp and metallic in my throat. Impossible to swallow. I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to drown out the burning images, burning questions.Will he follow her? Will he touch her the way he stroked my wrist?
Entering our dark bedroom, I place Anna in her crib, my fingers trailing across her soft cheek. So utterly dependent on me for everything—including thechoices I make. I can't get this wrong. Can't let my whims overshadow the most important thing: keeping her safe and loved.
Mason stirs as I slide into bed. “I’m sorry about earlier, Syd.”
“I know. It’s okay. We’re both tired.”
It’s not okay, and it wasn’t fatigue. But every nerve in me buzzes with restless, aching need. I press against him, searching for something to ground me, to dull the burn James left behind. He’s still more asleep than awake. I reach down, rubbing my hand along the front of Mason’s sleep pants. I stroke him back and forth, waking his desire as I unbutton my sleep shirt and bring his hand to my breast.
“What are you doing?” he asks, slowly awakening.
“Mase, I’m healed. The doctor gave us the okay months ago. I need you. Please.”
He wakes enough to take charge of his hands. His touch remains tentative, as if he’s unsure or worried I might leak.
“I won’t break,” I growl, desperate.
His eyes widen, and something clicks. His grip tightens. I gasp.
“Are you sure, Syd? I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Yes. God, yes.”
Finally, Mason flips us over, pinning me beneath him. His hands roam, relearning the planes of my body. I will him on; will this to fill what I need. His lips trace a slow path down my collarbone, and I let myself sink into it. The memory of how it used to be. The safety in rhythm. The knowing that together our bodies will find pleasure.
He grips my wrists, bringing them over my head. His thumb brushes over my skin and he slows, pausing on the welt.“What’s this?” He asks, kissing my shoulder.
“It’s nothing. I forgot it was there.”
And I’m no longer here.
I’m back in the sunroom with James’s eyes on me, his fingers rubbing that same welt, looking at me like this body, reshaped by motherhood, is somethingto revere. Not beautiful in spite of the changes, but because of them. Every curve, every softness: honored. Wanted.
I pull Mason closer, clinging to him, desperate now. Trying to anchor myself in the familiarity of his body, of this life we’ve built.
As if I can force myself back into this moment, into this marriage, by sheer will alone.
Twelve
Myeyesblinkopen,the harsh morning sun clearing away the shadows of last night.
I stretch my body for a long, luxurious moment—only to feel the ache between my legs, a sharp reminder of everything I tried to chase in the dark. My wrist still bears a faint red welt, tender to the touch.
That damn rubber band has never once stopped my mind from drifting to James, just like crawling into Mason’s arms didn’t erase the memory of James’s fingers brushing my skin.
Pavlovian training, my ass. I hurl it across the room.
