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74
Edward
She nods.Thank fuck.Without wasting a second, I lean in and gently fit my mouth over hers. I pour all of my feelings into the kiss. My love for her, my need for her, my apology for how I turned her world upside down. My regret for everything I did that upset her. I’m only a man—hopelessly, completely devoted to his wife, and I try to signal that through my lips on hers. I nip on her lower lip; she moans, parts her lips. I slide my tongue over hers and deepen the kiss. She melts into me. Every pore on my skin is alive, heat squeezes my chest, and my groin hardens. I pull her into my lap, slide my hand over her butt and squeeze.
She gasps, then leans back. "Eddie—" she swallows. "I… I’m not—"
I place my finger over her mouth. "I’m sorry." I squeeze my eyes shut. "I’m trying to be the kind of man you want, but I seem to be making a mess of it."
I release her, and she slides back onto the couch. "It’s okay."
"It’s not. I want to do everything right. I can’t fuck this up, wife; not when it’s my last chance to win you over."
"Is that what you’re doing? Winning me over?" she asks with a laugh.
"Not doing a great job of it, obviously." I adjust myself, then rise to my feet. "Can I take you to bed?"
She blinks.
"I mean…"—I rub my fingers through my hair—"can I carry you to your bed? And only because I know your feet hurt after wearing those pumps."
When she nods, I switch off the television, then scoop her up in my arms. She cuddles into me, and I walk up the stairs, then place her on her feet next to the bed. I walk into her closet and emerge with the T-shirt—my T-shirt—she likes to wear to bed. I place it down, then bend and kiss her forehead. "Goodnight, wife."
Before I can change my mind, I head for the doorway.
"Eddie," she calls out.
I stop.
"You need to make your peace with Baron."
I don’t reply.
"You need to move on from what happened, and this is the only way out."
I stay silent, and she blows out a breath. "For me, husband? Please."
She knows I'll do anything for her.Even this.
* * *
It’s been two weeks since she moved out. Two very long, lonely weeks, during which I’ve been barely functional. I knew I was being insufferable at work, until Nathan barged into my office yesterday and barked at me to take the day off and not come back until I’ve gotten my shit together. I left and wandered the city aimlessly. I kept finding myself walking in the direction of her flat and barely managed to stop myself before I reached it.
Instead, I went home, changed into my running gear, and ran until I was too tired to think straight. Then I went back home, crawled into her bed, under her bedclothes, to try and find some shut eye. Still, I stuck to my promise. I had already removed all my hidden cameras and wiretaps from her devices and her car and had told my investigators to stop following her.
It feels like I cut off a part of myself, but I’ve done what she asked of me. I also managed to not text or call, and fuck, if that hasn’t just about killed me. If it weren’t for the fact that Summer is keeping me updated—without my prompting—that they're hanging out with mutual friends and she's good, I don’t know what I'd do.
I wake up very early, after managing to get a few hours of sleep, and decide to go for another run. Now, I gaze at the skyline of London spread out over me.
There are no tourists at Primrose Hill at this time of the morning. It’s quiet, except for the footsteps of the jogger who runs by. To the side a couple works out. He holds onto her legs as she goes through a series of sit-ups. Then she does the same for him. They’re equal partners, at least for the duration of this exercise session, and so in sync, it hints at their being together for a while. They finish their workout, and he helps her to her feet, then pulls her close and kisses her. She laughs and hugs him, before they jog down the hill.
That’s when I see him. A tall man with broad shoulders wearing a pair of sweats. He begins to jog up the slope. His gait is familiar. The way he holds himself straight, his elbows tucked into his sides, his steps even as he approaches me—all of it is so very familiar. As he nears me, I focus on the view once more. He reaches the bench I’m sitting on and sinks down on the opposite side. For a few seconds, we stay silent. His breathing evens out. I reach for my bottle of water and offer it to him. He takes it without comment and chugs from it, before placing it in the space between us.
"Thanks, man," he murmurs.
I nod. "Sorry it took me a while to reach out to you."
Baron shakes his head. "Never too late. I’m glad you did."
