I ran my hands over my suddenly cold arms, wishing for a sweater to curl into at that moment. With automatic movements, David opened the passenger door to let me in. I tried not to look over at him as we drove away and left the house behind, but after a few moments of silence had passed, I couldn’t help myself. He looked back at me and smiled.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” I asked.
“Yes,” he assured me.
I looked around the unfamiliar car. “Are you mad about what just happened?” I asked the dashboard.
He reached over confidently to squeeze my bare knee. “No.”
I covered his hand with mine. There was nothing and everything to say. We drove the rest of the way in silence, our hands on my leg. I studied both of them, the way his long fingers and massive palm took up the whole lower half of my thigh. The gesture was meant to be comforting. But to me it was erotic. When he adjusted his grip, I silently willed his hand to slide up my skirt. But it didn’t, and when I smoothed a fingertip over his knuckles, he flipped his palm up and took my hand.
There were no appropriate words: good-bye, see you soon, see you never—none of it felt right. So when he pulled up to the curb in front of my office building, I let go of his hand and climbed out.
“Olivia.”
I leaned back into the car. His jaw set, his eyes fixed on me. Then he said, “There are still other options.”
I shut the car door, too shocked and scared to respond.
Other options.
Blood drained from my face as he drove away.
David’s words echoed what he’d said in his apartment before I’d fled. He still wanted me. But if Bill’s offer on the house was accepted, then my future would solidify. None of the reasons I’d left had changed, though. David was still a charming playboy with a past and a present. He was still a man I’d known for a blink of an eye. A man who could love me one minute and leave me the next.
And I was still married—to Bill, and to the idea that I would take safety, stability, and tedium over passion, volatility, and pain any day of the week. Wasn’t I?
* * *
As soon as the front door of the apartment shut behind me, Bill was in my space. “How was the rest of your day?” he asked. “Get back to the office all right?”
“Yes,” I said, untying the fabric belt of my jacket.
“How’d you like driving in the architect’s car? It’s a V12. I noticed it on my way out. Your dad would love it.”
You should see his Porsche. I hung up my jacket and headed for the kitchen. “Sure.”
“He seemed impressed with the house. Did he say anything to you?”
I glanced at Bill and set my purse on the counter. “Honey, I just walked in the door,” I said. “What happened with the jury?”
His smile was victorious. “We won.”
“Oh, Bill.” I braced myself against the counter to slide off my shoes. “That’s great news.”
“I was worried because they came to a verdict so quickly, but it turned out in our favor. So, aren’t you going to say anything about the house?”
I sighed. “Yes, actually.”
“I’m excited, babe. I know I was skeptical because of the amount of work it will take, but I’m on board now. I’m just so ready to get started with our life already.”
I picked up the day’s mail but didn’t sort it. “You should have consulted me first.”
Bill’s eyebrows drew together. “Consulted? You’re not my business partner, you’re my wife.”
“You know what I mean.” I set down the mail, noticing a bottle of Veuve Clicquot at the end of the counter with two plastic champagne flutes. “We should’ve sat down together and—”
“Whoa. Hang on. I was trying to do something nice and spontaneous here,” he said. “You told me you wanted this.”
