“Dinner can wait,” he says in a sultry whisper.“But I can’t.”
“I won’t be long,” I insist, breathless.
James hesitates, his eyes narrowing slightly.Then a smile curves his lips, a wolfish gleam that sends a chill down my spine.“Fine,” he concedes.“But don’t be too long.”
Nodding, I pry his fingers from my arm and slip away.As I head toward the bedroom, I place the ring on the dinner table, the diamond winking at me under the soft light.
It’s out of my hands now.
The door clicks shut behind me, a fragile barrier against the tension simmering in the apartment.The faint scent of James’s cologne, cloying musk and leather, lingers in the air, a reminder of his dominating presence.I lean against the wood, my heart pounding.
What is he playing at?
This room feels different now, tainted by the knowledge of James’s betrayal.
What if this is all a trick?Just a lull before he attacks again?
I shed the tracksuit.The fabric clings to me, reluctant to let go.Exhaustion descends, a bone-deep weariness that has less to do with the events of the day and everything to do with the months spent tiptoeing around James’s volatile moods.I pull on a pair of comfortable black leggings and a white sweater, shedding the last vestiges of the woman who threw her ring into a stranger’s yard and found solace in his presence.
A solace I desperately crave but no longer have.
The door swings open before I process the knock.“Don’t keep me waiting, Mimi.”James’s voice cracks like a whip.
He leans against its frame, a smirk playing on his lips.“Ready for dinner, my love?”His eyes sweep over me with a greediness that makes my skin crawl.
“Yes,” I choke out.
He offers his hand, his touch deceptively warm, his eyes icy.I hesitate, fingers hovering over his outstretched palm.
Don’t give him the satisfaction.
But I push down the urge to pull back, plastering a smile onto my face.“Let’s go,” I say, my words a brittle imitation of normalcy.
He steers me into the dining room, the scent of roasted chicken and rosemary filling the air.The table is set with an elaborate spread of candles, flowers, and a crystal decanter filled with red wine.The candlelight casts dancing shadows on the walls, a poor imitation of warmth.
He’s trying too hard.My gaze sweeps over the ostentatious display, bile rising in my throat.
This isn’t him.
This isn’t us.
Not anymore.
We sit down, and James pours the wine, his movements a practiced performance.The crystal glasses clink softly.“I’m sorry for what happened at your office,” he says, his apology smooth.“I didn’t mean to lose it like that.”
“It’s okay,” I reply, my words flat.
It’s not okay.
Nothing is okay.
“I was just so stressed,” he continues, a low rumble that cuts through the light music.“That fucking lawyer...he really got under my skin.”
Conflicting emotions rise.Anger at James, protectiveness towards Matthew, and a longing I can’t quite explain.
“He was just doing the decent thing, protecting me from…” My voice trails off, the unspoken accusation hanging in the air.
“From?”James raises an eyebrow, a flicker of suspicion in his eyes.“Protecting my fiancée?”He pauses, leaning back in his chair.“Fromher fiancé, you mean?”
