The guilt twists deeper in my stomach as I watch his dark eyes, so earnest and trusting. He has no idea that what started as a business arrangement has becomesomething else entirely, something that keeps me awake at night, torn between my family and these new, overwhelming feelings for Caine. Every time I close my eyes, I see Caine's face, feel the ghost of his touch, and then I look at Reeves—my husband, Liam's father—and the shame nearly suffocates me.
How did I let myself fall this far? What started as a desperate solution to our financial problems has turned into an emotional maze I can't find my way out of. The worst part is that Reeves is apologizing to me when I'm the one who should be.
"It's okay," I say softly.
"No, it's not. I've been a jealous ass." He squeezes my hand. "And I know how much you love our house. I promise we won't sell it. We'll figure something else out."
I think about the stained glass window he broke, now replaced with a plain glass that lets in too much light in the mornings.
The original was a beautiful peacock design—vibrant blues and greens that cast colored shadows across our office floor.
"We'll make it work," I tell him, squeezing his hand back. "We always do."
I look at him—really look at him—and for a moment, I see the boy who reached up to grab that book for me in the campus library all those years ago.That broad, sexy smile made my heart skip. I remember how it felt to fall in love with him. The way his dark eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed, how his long fingers brushed against mine when he handed me that dog-eared copy ofThe Great Gatsby.
Seven years later, and sometimes I still catch glimpses of that carefree college boy beneath the worried lines now etched across his forehead. The boy who would play his guitar until sunrise, who promised we'd figure everything out together. Before mortgages, medical bills and a failing family business. Before we knew how hard "together" could be.
The drive home from the restaurant is quiet, filled with the kind of comfortable silence that only years together can cultivate. Reeves’s hand rests on my thigh, his fingers idly tapping out a rhythm only he can hear. The streetlights cast a warm glow over the interior of his truck, illuminating the soft lines of my husband's face.
I study him, committing every detail to memory—the curve of his brow, the gentle slope of his nose, the way his lips part slightly when he's deep in thought. Guilt twists in my chest, an unwelcome companion that's been dogging my every step lately.
We pull into the driveway, the crunch of gravelbeneath the tires breaking the silence. Our yellow dollhouse stands before us, a beacon in the quiet night.
Inside, Jessica greets us with a soft smile, her eyes sleepy. "Liam was an angel," she whispers.. "He's out like a light."
"Thank you, Jessica," I say, my voice equally hushed. "You're a godsend."
Reeves slips her a few folded bills, gratitude etched on his face. We exchange a few more quiet words before she slips out the front door, leaving us alone in the dimly lit entryway.
No sooner has the door closed than Reeves’s hands are on me, his body pressing me against the wall with an urgency that steals my breath.
His lips find mine in a desperate, hungry kiss that leaves no room for thought, for guilt, for anything but the here and now.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
His fingers slip beneath the hem of my dress, exploring the contours of my thigh with a familiarity that sends shivers down my spine. I arch into him, my own hands fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, eager to feel the warmth of his skin against mine.
"God, I've missed you," he murmurs against my neck, his beard tickling my sensitive skin. The scent of faint whiskey envelops me, so distinctly him, so comforting despite our troubles.
During these precious moments, our worries fade away—all of it dissolves under his touch. I lose myself in the feeling of his calloused hands, strong from fixing stuff around the house, now gentle as they trace patterns on my skin. This is the Reeves I fell for in college,passionate and present, before the weight of responsibility bent his shoulders.
"Bedroom," I murmur against his lips, but he shakes his head, a wild, untamed look in his eyes that I haven't seen in years.
"Here," he growls, and I find myself nodding, giving in to the raw, animalistic need that courses through us both.
Our clothes become a tangle of fabric and desperation, neither of us willing to break the spell that has woven itself around us. Reeves’s hands are everywhere, his touch sparking a fire within me. I cling to him, my fingers digging into the firm muscles of his back as I surrender to him.
We make love there, on the stairs of our home, the moon casting long shadows across the floor. It's reckless and frenzied, a testament to the love that still burns between us despite the secrets and the silence and the unspoken fears that hang heavy in the air.
Afterward, we move upstairs and lie entwined, our breaths slowly returning to normal, the world reduced to the steady rhythm of Reeves’s heartbeat beneath my ear. I close my eyes, allowing myself to exist in this moment, to revel in the feel of my husband's arms around me.
This. It should be enough.
I stare at my reflection in the vanity mirror, my fingers hovering over my makeup bag. My fourth playdate with Caine looms just hours away, and my stomach twists with a mixture of anticipation and guilt. Behind me, Reeves sits on our bed, his dark eyes tracking my every movement. I can feel his gaze burning into my back as I deliberate which shade of lipstick might please a cocky millionaire.
My hand trembles slightly as I reach for the concealer to hide the dark circles under my eyes—evidence of another sleepless night spent wrestling with my conscience. The vanilla scent of my perfume seems to mock the coffee-stained reality of my everyday life, this secret double existence I'm cultivating.
I catch Reeves’s reflection watching me, his long wavy hair falling past his shoulders, his expression unreadable beneath that carefully trimmed beard. How did we get here? How did I become this woman preparing to meet another man with my husband's silent permission?
