“Sleep and get breakfast?” I repeat like he’s spoken a sacrilege.
“That’s all I’ve got for you now,” he says, settling onto his back and again, closing his eyes.
“Wife.”
The word lands.
And there’s no pretending it didn’t happen.
Chapter
Six
SCARLETT
The coffee tastes like salvation… and regret.
Mostly regret.
I sit across from Donovan in a quiet corner of the hotel café, both of us wearing sunglasses like we’re trying to hide from the world.
Or maybe just the light.
Neither of us says anything for a minute, which is strange. Because last night, we couldn’t seem to stop.
I wrap both hands around my mug, letting the heat seep into my fingers, into the soreness that still lingers there.
Into the reminder.
My gaze drops. To the ring. Tohis. Still matching. Still permanent.
“Oh my God,” I mutter again.
He huffs into his coffee. “You said that already.”
“I’m saying it again.”
“Fair enough.”
Silence lingers between us.
Somehow, it’s not awkward.
Despite everything. But it is heavier… maybe because I have no clue what to fill it with.
A waitress stops by, sets down our plates—eggs, toast, something greasy enough to soak up bad decisions—and disappears again without asking questions.
Bless her. My gaze shifts between the food and him, then back at the food.
“So,” I say finally.
“So,” he echoes.
I blow out a breath. “This was supposed to be temporary.”
His jaw tightens. “I know.”
“And Vegas was supposed to be…” I gesture vaguely between us. “A distraction.”
