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8
Kira looked at her reflection in the mirror. For the past thirty minutes, she’d been brushing her hair obsessively. Well, what else was there to do? He’d texted her two hours ago saying he’d be late.
She glanced at the clock. Eight o’clock.
She’d made herself a sandwich earlier, after much debate. Would the turkey cheese club give her strength before what she imagined would be an intense sex session with her husband, or would it make her look bloated right before said session?
Ugh. She touched the silky robe she’d been wearing.
What a stupid idea.
This whole thing was a lot of work. And the anticipation… she’d thought it would be a good thing, but no, it ended up backfiring. She should have done the deed with him in the restaurant and gotten it over with.
Was he being late a real excuse, or did he use it as a power move? She’d seen executives do it in important meetings—to show their opponents or colleagues that their time was more important than the others’.
She rolled her eyes. Was he playing games with her?
What else could she expect from a man like Luc? Seemingly, he’d been straight when he told her he wanted her. But most likely, he was playing with her.
A lump of an old insecurity lodged in her throat, and she could feel some sadness welling up inside. For so many years, she’d always been her parents’ second choice. Felt like that, anyway—and they didn’t exactly actively make her believe otherwise.
She set the brush aside.
Poppy had done her makeup, putting a cat eye shape on her eyes. She reached the makeup removal wipes, and held one up. Best thing would be to wipe all this crap from her face, call it a night and go to bed. She could deal with disappointment, but waiting on someone who gave no fucks to her feelings was too much.
She took the wipe to her eye and removed that perfect, flawless cat eye shape. Anger curled in her stomach, sinking it to the ground. She wasn’t sure if she was angrier at him for standing her up, or at herself for believing they would have a great night.
With careful precision, she wiped her face clean from the makeup.
Tears formed in the corner of her eyes, but she refused to let them run down her cheeks. Instead, she closed her eyes and pressed the wipe on her lids, taking a deep breath, wishing she had never had this stupid idea of letting loose tonight.
A knock on her door startled her, and she glanced at the entrance of her room.
“Kira?” he asked and before she replied, he opened the door, entering.
“What happened?” he said, his gaze traveling to her face.
She lifted her chin, in an attempt to gain the upper hand. “Nothing. I changed my mind about tonight.”
“You changed your mind.”
“Yes. I’m entitled. So if you want to leave and pretend this never happened—”
He spun on his heel, and left her room.
A mix of surprise and anger boiled inside her. She didn’t expect him to just leave, and not even apologize or give her a half-hearted excuse as to why he was late. She had access to his schedule, he shouldn’t forget.
And with their luck, if he stepped out on her, it’d make it to the newspapers.
She pushed the wipe aside and stole a glance at the mirror. Shit. Why couldn’t she have told him off while she still had the pretty makeup on and didn’t resemble a panda, with the rings of the black eyeliner around her eyes in the most unflattering way?
She heard steps coming in her direction, and when she lifted her gaze, she saw him in the middle of her bedroom, a bottle of red wine in hand.
“What are you doing?”
“I thought we’d need this,” he said, lifting it up and grabbing a cork opener from his pocket. “I’m sorry I’m late.”
She lifted her hand to keep him from saying whatever he thought she needed to hear. “You don’t have to—”
