And then, just like that, he abruptly rises from his stool and is gone, leaving me in a state of shock and longing and arousal so potent it's almost painful. Fifty thousand dollars, he'd said. An amount of money that could simplify our lives so much.
I lean against the bar, my hands trembling uncontrollably, my mind a chaotic tornado of conflicting emotions. The smooth wood beneath my fingertips feels like the only solid thing in a world suddenly turned upside down.
Fifty thousand dollars keeps flashing through my thoughts like a neon sign, bright and impossible to ignore. The pool hall's familiar sounds—the crack of balls, the low murmur of afternoon patrons, Aerosmith playing softly in the background—fade to white noise as I struggle to process what just happened.
Can I really entertain this idea? This... proposition? The weight of our financial troubles presses down on me. That kind of money would solve everything, at least for now.
I glance at my reflection in the mirror behind the bar, barely recognizing the woman staring back with flushed cheeks and conflicted eyes. I absently twist mywedding ring around my finger, the small gesture a physical reminder of promises made and the life I've built with Reeves and Liam.
I don't have the answers, but as I stand there, the ghost of Caine's gaze lingering on my skin, I have an eerie feeling this isn't over.
Not by a long shot.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I smooth my dress nervously, a navy blue wrap that I bought years ago and barely wear. The restaurant is nicer than our usual haunts—white tablecloths, soft lighting, and actual cloth napkins. Reeves looks handsome in his button-down shirt, his dark hair pulled back in a neat ponytail.
"Twenty-eight dollars for chicken parm?" Reeves mutters, scanning the menu. "That's highway robbery."
"We deserve a nice night out," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "Besides, we just got that money for the cat."
"Don't remind me." Reeves scowls. "That cat is eating us out of house and home. Why did you even start feeding him Fancy Feast?"
"Liam loves him." I fiddle with my water glass. "When's the last time we did something romantic like this?"
The waiter approaches, and I order two appetizers—bruschetta and grilled calamari, and breaded lemon chicken. My stomach's in knots.
"I'll have the chicken parm," Reeves says, handing back the menu with a sigh.
Once we're alone, I take a deep breath. "What if I told you we could make another fifty thousand? And you wouldn't have to lift a finger."
Reeves freezes, his eyes narrowing as he processes my words. His entire body goes rigid, the muscles in his jaw tightening visibly beneath his dark beard.
The candlelight catches the tension in his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the dangerous glint that appears in those nearly black eyes. His large hands stop midway to his water glass, hovering there like he's forgotten what he was doing.
I've seen this expression before—it's the same one he wore when the bank called about our third late mortgage payment, or when the doctor first mentioned Liam's hearing issues. It's Reeves calculating, weighing options, trying to decide how to proceed.
The silence between us stretches uncomfortably across the pristine white tablecloth, making the ambient restaurant chatter seem suddenly too loud, too intrusive on our private moment. "This is about Caine, isn't it?"
"He made an offer—"
"What does he want now? To fuck you for fifty grand?" His voice rises. "Is that what this is? SomeIndecent Proposalbullshit?"
"Keep your voice down," I hiss, glancing at nearby tables. "It's not that."
The harshness of his words hangs in the air, a palpable weight pressing down on the fragile truce we've maintained throughout dinner. "Pretty Woman, then? You want to be his whore?"
The question is a barb, laced with hurt and disbelief, and it cuts deeper than I care to admit. My heart pounds in my chest, the rhythm erratic and panicked, as I struggle to find a response that doesn't further ignite the fire of his resentment.
I look at Reeves, really look at him, taking in the lines of exhaustion etched into his face, the dark circles under his eyes that speak of sleepless nights spent worrying about our future.
I see the man I fell in love with, the one with dreams as big as the sky and a laugh that could light up the darkest room. But that man is buried under layers of stress and fear, a casualty of our financial problems and the relentless pressure to keep our family afloat.
"No, Reeves," I say softly, reaching across the table to grab his hand. "It's not like that. You know me better than that." His hand is cold, and I can feel the tensionvibrating through him. "Caine sees something in me, and he's willing to pay for it. He's really into photography, and he says I would make a good model. He wants to take pictures of me at his place, in his studio. It's a transaction, that's all."
Reeves pulls his hand away, the rejection stinging more than I expect. "A transaction," he echoes, his voice hollow. "Fifty grand to take pictures of my wife. It's... it's obscene."
I nod, acknowledging the truth in his words. "He wants to photograph me. That's it."
