“Nah, for real. That bag says you’re a dope boy’s wife. Like you don’t check price tags. Like you’re used to this life.”
I tilted my head, eyeing myself in the mirror. He wasn’t wrong. The bag looked good on me. I looked like I belonged in spaces where women sipped champagne while they shopped and didn’t flinch when swiping a black card.
He kissed my cheek, pressing his lips close to my jaw. “I work so hard because I want to give you this life all the time. You deserve to have the best every time you even think of it, not just on a special occasion, and I’m going to give you just that. I swear.”
I glanced up, startled by the sincerity in his eyes. I hesitated because guilt pinched at my throat, making it hard to swallow. I smiled up into his eyes. “I know, baby.”
“You want it?”
“Damar, you don’t have to do this,” I murmured.
Damar was successful, but he hadn’t reached the point in his career that spending this type of money on a handbag wouldn’t put stress on his bank account.
“I know,” he said quickly, gently tilting my chin so I met his eyes. “I want to, so let me.”
The way he looked at me felt earnest. It was desperate almost, like he was doing everything in his power to bridge the emotional gap I’d quietly allowed to form between us, and that made the heaviness in my chest multiply.
I sighed and smiled. “Sure, baby.”
His smile stretched wide. “Then it’s yours.”
As he signaled for the saleswoman, I felt like such a fraud.
I had been complaining about the lack of passion between Damar and me for quite some time. I had been having the same complaint since before we married.
He was a handsome, charismatic man with swag. I could never deny his tall, massive beauty. He was healthy for my broken heart when we met. But I never felt the heart-wrenching longing and need for him that I always felt for my other best friend, Mythic Grey. I hoped that once Damar and I fell in love, once we married, that it would develop. But our chemistry was never a match for the flame that roared in my heart for Mythic.
From the beginning, my marriage with Damar had been mundane. He checked all the right boxes. He was successful, dependable, and a “good man” on paper, but that was it. I thought that the issue was that he wasn’t as connected to our marriage because he was so focused on his party promotion business. But a year ago, Damar started to switch things up. Out of nowhere, he started turning up the romance with dinners, flowers, compliments—the things he used to overlook.
I tried to enjoy it. I tried to appreciate the effort he was finally putting in. But the truth was, even with all his changes, my heart kept drifting back to Mythic.
After Damar made the purchase, he kissed my temple, slipped his arm around me, and we stepped back into the evening.
And as I held tightly on to the expensive gift bag, my guilt screamed loudly in my ears, drowning out the carefree laughter and conversations of the people passing by.
As we waited to cross the street, he leaned in and kissed me again.
My eyes fluttered closed, but not for the reasons they should have.
It was Mythic’s face that filled the darkness behind my eyelids. I heard his voice and felt his hands. The way he used tolook at me like I was both his peace and his undoing. I hated that my body reacted to the thought of him more than to the man actually kissing me.
I pulled back gently and forced a small smile. “You’re really making a day of this, huh?”
“Yeah.” He nodded, glancing at me like he was searching for something in my eyes. “I just wanna be with you, Avi. No distractions. No bullshit. Just us.”
We started walking again. The sidewalks were crowded, but we moved slow, like the city wasn’t rushing past us.
Damar’s grip on my hand tightened a little. “I know I wasn’t always…present. I got caught up with the parties and the scene. The promoting. The attention. I thought providing meant showing up with money and connections. But that’s not what you need. And I hate that I had to almost lose you to realize that.”
I bit the inside of my cheek, fighting the sting in my chest.
“I’ve been putting in the work,” he said, “trying to prove to you that I’m here—that I’m serious about us. But I can’t lie, Vee—” He stopped walking, turning to face me—“it scares the hell out of me that it might be too late. That I waited too long to choose you the right way.”
He looked at me like he needed me to save him. But I didn’t feel like anyone’s savior. I felt like a traitor in heels and lip gloss.
“You didn’t lose me.” I barely believed my own words.
His thumb brushed against my knuckles. “Then help me feel like I haven’t.”
