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“Don’t apologize,” I mumble.
Neither of us say anything else, until he steps back a few minutes later. “All set.”
“Thanks.”
I start down the hallway, toward the elevator that will take us downstairs. After a beat, I hear Oliver’s footsteps behind me. Feel his eyes on my back.
Mine stay straight ahead.
CHAPTERTWENTY-FOUR
OLIVER
Hannah won’t look at me.
And I can’t stop staring at her.
I twist the cufflink in its hole above my wrist for the twentieth time, needing some outlet for all the nervous energy pinballing inside of me.
This was supposed to be a special evening. The wedding of one of the few people I consider a true friend, spent with the woman I can’t seem to get enough of.
But ever since Hannah returned from her shopping trip, she’s acted like my presence is an inconvenience, and I’m not sure how to handle it. What it means. All I know is I hate her sudden indifference. I feel like a toddler, sulking because I’m receiving less attention.
I’ve always felt like Hannah was either an instigator or a willing participant in thisthingbetween us, which has no easy label. We’re married, but we’ve never been a couple. We’re in the midst of a divorce, but currently living together.
My thumb rubs against the rough surface of my cufflink. These are my favorite pair, one of few gifts from my father I actually like. Constructed from an ancient Rome inset, the center is a depiction of Julius Caesar, withveni, vidi, vicisketched around the rim.
I came, I saw, I conquered.
Doesn’t seem fitting. I’m more defeated than victorious at the moment.
I steal another glance at Hannah. She’s staring out the window, entirely motionless, with her hands folded neatly in her lap.
From this angle, the neckline of her dress gapes a little. I can see the curve of her left breast. My dick twitches in my tight pants, remembering how she looked standing in the hallway with one breast bared. The flush of scarlet that stole across her skin when she realized I was looking.
I stood outside the guest room for way too long earlier, listening to water rush through the pipes and staring at the shut door. Feeling like an interloper in my own home. Torn between honoring Hannah’s obvious wish to be left alone and pounding on the door, demanding she tell me what changed in the few hours she was gone.
I ended up staring, trying to will away the coil of dread that appeared as soon as I realize she’d chosen to get ready in one of the guest rooms instead of my room. It’s still there, sitting like a lead weight in my stomach.
If she sleeps in there tonight…
This shouldn’t bother me. It grates that it does. There are a million other things I should be focused on and thinking about. But all I can see is her, wearing a blue-green dress that manages to cover everything but also be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
“Is something wrong?” It’s a relief to finally speak the words, after thinking them on a nonstop loop.
“No.” Still, she won’t look at me. And ithurts, aches like a punch to an existing bruise. I’d rather she yell and scream than ignore me. At least I would have some idea what she’s thinking.
“One.”
Finally, she faces me. I’m caught off guard by the eye contact.
My favorite look on Hannah is when she’s barefaced with tangled waves, naked in my bed. But she looks devastatingly, heart-breakingly beautiful tonight, and I should have told her so earlier.
“What?” she asks.
“I’m counting the number of lies you’ve told me.”
If she’s told me others, they haven’t been so obvious.
