They go to a sex club.
Things begin to get emotional and secrets are shared
39
GRACE
Ishould be on top of the world.
My manuscript is more than halfway done. Fifty thousand words in less than two months, a pace I've never achieved. The story flows like I'm channeling something beyond myself, each scene sharper than the last.
And my sex life is unreal. Asher's pleased with me. He tells me so every night when he comes home and asks how my day went. The praise in his voice does things to me, makes me want to write more just to hear that approval again.
But I’m stuck.
Something needs to happen in this story, something beyond sex. The characters need to grow and change, but the only ideas I channel into the book are more kinky sex scenes. And maybe that’s because all that’s happening in my relationship is sex.
There are moments, like when he’s warming dinner and asking about my day, or when we do mundane things like watch TV, that I think, maybe this is something more. And then, I squash that thought before it can grow legs, before I can dream up a future for Asher and I that goes beyond December.
This is temporary.
Six more months and this all goes away.
That’s all this is.
I close my laptop, pressing my palms against my eyes. The pearls at my throat feel heavier today. My collar has an expiration date stamped on it, like everything else in this arrangement.
You're not really his wife.
This isn't really your home.
Those women at the Hamptons were right. Youdon'tbelong here.
My chest tightens. I stand, pacing to the floor-to-ceiling windows. Manhattan sprawls below, glittering and vast and utterly indifferent to the small-town girl pretending she fits into this world.
I pull out my phone, thumb hovering over Kacey's contact. I could call her. Tell her I need coffee, need to talk, needsomethingto ground me. But what would I say? That I'm falling apart because my fake marriage feels too real? That I'm terrified of what happens when the contract ends and I have to walk away from the man who's made me feel more seen than anyone ever has?
The phone goes back into my pocket.
I move to the couch, curling into the corner with a throw pillow clutched against my chest.
You signed the contract.
You agreed to this.
You knew what it was.
But knowing andfeelingare different things.
