Clean.
Clear eyes. Steady voice. That Jensen confidence I haven’t seen in so long—the same confidence that stole my heart five years ago.
Jensen 2.0 showed up. And I’m supposed to stay strong? Pretend like this is what I want—to be divorced? To sign the papers while he’s looking at me like I’m the only person in the room. Like I’m still his.
Like he loves me.
Shit.
Chapter Twelve
JENSEN
Her lawyer’svoice is calm and steady. “As you’re aware, Ms. Adams originally proposed a 25/75 split in favor of Mr. Adams. In light of his recent rebuttal, Ms. Adams is now open to a 50/50 division of marital assets.”
I sit back, hands clasped in front of me, eyes on her profile. She won’t look at me—not when I’m watching. But I’ve caught her glancing over, her gaze flicking my way, lingering. I’m no expert at reading people, but I know Alley.
I know her better than anyone.
I know the scar on her ankle and the one on her knee from a scooter crash when she was twelve. I know the birthmark on her ass—it’s small, looks like a mole, and it’s cute as hell. I know how to make her laugh until she cries.
And I know this is killing her. The act. The pretending she doesn’t care.
I study her, not caring that I’ve been staring for most of the meeting, or that she’s caught me more than once. I’m not trying to hide it. She’s my wife. I want her to see me looking at her, admiring her. If this is the only way I can show her how much I love her, then I’ll keep staring.
She looks gorgeous, but that’s no surprise. One of my favorite versions of Alley is in the mornings—half-asleep, hair kinked, fresh face, oversized T-shirt and no pants. There’s something vulnerable about it. The way she hides her face, thinking she looks like shit. How she’s self-conscious about morning breath, and I couldn’t care less. When I see her like that, I just want to wrap myself around her and kiss her until she believes she’s the most beautiful woman in the world.
Her hair’s longer, the longest it’s ever been. Her black sleeveless dress hugs her perfectly, teasing every bit of what’s underneath.
Her eyes shift from the lawyer’s to mine. She narrows them slightly, brow furrowed as she takes a deep breath, then flicks her gaze to the table.
Shit. If that wasn’t lust written all over my face…
But it was all over hers too.
I should know better than to read too much into a look. But the few times I’ve caught her gaze… it doesn’t feel like hate. Doesn’t feel like someone who wants to get a divorce. If anything, it feels like the opposite of that.
Like someone who wouldn’t mind getting fucked in a utility closet instead of sitting here in this stuffy office.
A smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth.She doesn’t really want this.
I cling to that thought, because it’s the only thing giving me enough confidence to get through this meeting still a married man.
I didn’t know what to expect today. I’ve been scared shitless, telling myself for months that Alley still loves me. That if I could just see her, talk to her, things would be different.
I know it’s not that simple. Especially after weeks of being ignored, texts left on read, calls sent to voicemail. It’sbeen fucking brutal. And now, seeing her like this? Avoidant. Standoffish.
I’ve got my work cut out for me. That’s for damn sure.
I’ve fucked up more than anyone ever should. I know I don’t deserve Alley—not after everything I’ve done, everything I’ve put her through. But I also know I can make her happy. When things are good between us, they’re really good. We can get back there. I know we can.
This is my last chance to show her who I’ve become. I don’t need to win her over today. I just need to delay the signing. Plant seeds. Remind her of what we were. Show her who I am now. Prove I’m still someone worth loving.
“We appreciate the revised offer,” Keith says. “As you know, Mr. Adams has always maintained that he wants a fair resolution. Given the reasons behind the divorce, he still believes you deserve more than fifty percent. But he’s prepared to accept these terms, assuming we can clarify the division of the primary assets, specifically the furniture and joint investment accounts.”
“I don’t want any of the furniture,” she says.
“Al,” I say gently. “Come on. You picked it out. It’s just as much yours as it is mine.”
