Page 91 of Becoming His Mistress

“Forget it,” he replies, smiling and looking at me now. “I shouldn’t have— let’s just eat, okay?”

“What would you do if I did?” I pry, because I’m feeling a little more confrontational than usual. Probably because I’m tired and a little bit hungover and I’ve got a seriously difficult decision to make.

He freezes, his smile fading. “Nothing. We weren’t exclusive. I can’t ask for monogamy when I’ve not granted it myself.”

Knowing that he’s been bedding his wife and having it verbally confirmed are two entirely different things. I feel sick.

“But it’s different now. We can start afresh, me and you, this apartment, working together.”

I drag my teeth over my lower lip.

He hooks his arms around my waist. “It’s going to be amazing.”

So why do I feel sick to the bottom of my stomach?

Chapter Thirty

How well he comforts me.

I told Laurie about the apartment, but not about Ezra. I just guess I’m not ready to admit out loud what I’ve done yet. She joined me the other night, balking over the décor and the view, and the rooftop pool… yep, there’s a rooftop pool. I could get used to living like this.

So why am I still so conflicted?

Laurie loves the apartment and hasn’t asked why work is paying for such an expensive place for just a PA. Truth be told, I think she might know about me and Ezra but she’s just too scared to ask. Just like I’m too scared to tell.

The clues are there for her to see. The fact I have a new car now, a matte black Mercedes sporty thing, suitable for two. Another gift from Ezra. Well, temporary gift. It’s his second car and he’s not using it so he’s allowing me to. Since we keep it secure at the underground garage at home and the lot at work. I don’t go anywhere alone in between for it to be vandalized, but he said when he’s sure this Pax situation is over, he’s going to get me a car.

I don’t need or want his money, I have my own, but if he wants to buy me a car, I’m not going to say no. Still…

I’ve been here for a week now, three of those days and nights Ezra has been at his parents’ with Maria, giving me space and clarity I haven’t asked for but have needed.

One thing is for sure, when he’s not here I miss him more than I’ve ever missed anyone, I never thought I’d feel like that about another person. Another thing is for sure, we’re in the honeymoon stages of our relationship and I don’t trust it. We get along great and have so much fun together, but I know it won’t last. The honeymoon period I mean. I guess it’s messed up because I’m trying to decide if a few months of bliss is worth the heartache everyone will feel because of our actions.

I’m also terrified his wife will convince him to go back. It’s an overwhelming feeling of panic and loss every time I consider it a possibility.

I love him. I love everything about him. The way he smiles, the way he kisses me when he thinks I’m sleeping, how he holds my hand while we’re watching the flat screen, or he plays with my hair while I work on my laptop on the sofa.

He’s attentive in so many ways and for the most part he’s what I would call the perfect man. I feel blessed and lucky to have him. But I’m not naïve enough to think it will last any more than I’m naïve enough to think Pax has suddenly turned over a new leaf.

Pax who has stayed away from me at work, hasn’t texted or called, hasn’t vandalized my belongings anymore. I feel like he’s just a pot waiting to boil and I’m about to be scalded.

I feel it brewing, or perhaps I’m paranoid because of everything going on.

At work I’m jumpy, I will hardly let Ezra touch me beyond a few secret kisses and gropes, though he just thinks I’m adorable.

I’m too anxious, even though my twitches are at their lowest, the urge to do them is higher than it ever has been. I don’t know if that’s because I’m focusing so hard on not freaking out or not. I’m not cut out for this life of suspense.

Speaking of suspense, I jump when the front door opens and closes. I wasn’t expecting him back tonight, it’s late, almost eleven.

“Hey.” He walks in looking disheveled with a nasty-looking scratch down his neck. His hair is a mess and his eyes are tense. “I thought you’d be sleeping.”

“What happened?” I ask, blinking and standing on my knees on the wide, flat-cushioned sofa.

He sits next to me and lets his head hang over the back of it.

I take his hand in mine and tickle his palm. He loves it when I do that, another discovery I made about him this week.

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