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“Why?”
“Why?” she parrots. “We can’t have sex.”
“Why?” I repeat as I step closer yet.
“It would complicate this.” Her hand circles the air between us.
“This is becoming increasingly complicated,” I point out. “We are bound to each other for the moment. I say we make the best of it.”
Her eyes lock on mine. “There are other women out there, Graham. Judging by what you said, no one turns you down, so why not go find someone else to fuck?”
“I’m not going to fuck anyone else when I’m married to you.”
Her eyebrows perk. “You’re not?”
“This may be a marriage of convenience, but I won’t cross that line,” I stress the last word.
“You’re not going to sleep with another woman until we’re divorced?”
If I have to answer a dozen questions to get my point across, I will. “I’m not going to fuck another woman until we’re divorced.”
Her gaze drops to my mouth. “I didn’t realize that…”
“That I was going to be committed to you in every possible way?”
She nods.
“Let me make this as clear as I can, dear.” I toss her a grin. “The only woman I want to fuck is standing in front of me.”
“You want me because you can’t have anyone else.” Her voice is barely more than a whisper.
“I want you because of you,” I say. “Because I haven’t stopped thinking about how you looked when you came the other night and those fucking sounds you made. And your pussy, Trina. So soft and so fucking tight.”
Her hand leaps to my forearm. “Graham, if we…”
“When we,” I correct her. “When we fuck it won’t change anything.”
Her gaze searches my face. “We’ll still get divorced as planned?”
“Nothing changes,” I say the words like I mean them, even though I know they are laced with a lie.
This marriage has already changed who I am.
“It’s just sex,” she states clearly.
She can fool herself into thinking that, but after what we experienced the other night, this connection between us far surpasses a physical act.
I nod.
Her hand moves to her forehead. She scrubs it lightly. “I have to think about this.”
That’s better than a flat out no, so I step aside. “Take all the time you need.”
Her lips part slightly as she studies my face. “I will.”
I start toward the door, but her hand on my shoulder stops me. “Graham?”
I turn to face her again. “Yes?”
She shakes her head slightly before she lets out a heavy exhale. “I didn’t know that you intended to be faithful to me.”
I see the way her bottom lip trembles as she waits for my response.
“I may be a shitty boss, but I want to be a good husband. Even if this marriage will be short-lived.”
She nods. “Thank you.”
I should be the one thanking her for everything she’s done for me, but I can’t find the words to express the depth of my gratitude. I doubt like hell I ever will.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Trina
I step into my apartment, and suddenly my world feels a whole lot lighter.
A tear falls onto my cheek as I shut the door behind me.
I’m not overwhelmed with emotion at the sight of my one and only houseplant or the view of the building next door out of the living room window.
I’m excited at the prospect of spending my lunch hour here. I started work an hour early today, so that I could bank that time for now. My mom is meeting me here. She spent her morning at the New York Public Library. It’s always been her favorite place in Manhattan.
She’s going to pick up sandwiches and two lemonades from a deli near the library for us to share.
I already know what the topic of discussion will be. She’ll reminisce about when I used to live at home.
Back then, I had so many dreams to fulfill, including meeting a man I’d fall in love with and marry, having kids, and a career path that would eventually see me at the helm of a million or billion dollar company.
Working at Abdons has been the stepping-stone to that, but it’s becoming blatantly obvious that I’m going to need to search for a new job once I file for divorce.
I can’t imagine walking into the office every day to face my ex-husband.
I move toward the kitchen to grab the small watering can that I keep hidden under the sink.
I fill it with water and relieve the plant of its thirst.
The soil was bone dry which is a clear sign that I need to circle back here every few days instead of once a week.
Just as I set the watering can on the table, there’s a soft knock at my door.
My gaze immediately drops to my left hand and the rings.
I slide them off and hide them behind the potted plant.
Another knock sounds, so I smooth my hands over the front of my navy blue skirt and hurry across the floor.
