Inching back toward her, I press my lips to her temple. "When I finally have you again, I'm going to spend hours reminding your body who it belongs to. I'm going to make you come so many times you forget his name ever existed. I'm going to ruin you for anyone else, Keira. And then I'm going to do it all over again."
I pull back. Memorize her face in the dim light—the satisfied curve of her lips, the flush still staining her cheeks.
She looks so peaceful.
"Soon," I promise her sleeping form. "I'm going to take back everything he stole. Starting with you."
I disappear through the door without a sound.
But I take the taste of her with me.
THIRTY-FOUR
KEIRA
The stylist arrives at noon with three garment bags and a case of tools designed to turn me into someone else.
Her name is Margot. She's been doing this for years—flying in from Paris whenever Ewan needs me presentable for important guests. Sharp cheekbones, platinum hair pulled back into a tight bun, eyes that have never once looked at me like I'm a person.
Because to her, I'm not.
I'm a canvas. A project. A mannequin that needs to be dressed and painted before it can be displayed.
I'm so tired, and it doesn't help that I had another eventful dream last night. This one more vivid than the last. And with only Tristan.
I can still feel the ghost of his fingers between my thighs. Still hear the rough command in his voice when he told me to use my words. To come for him. That I belonged to him.
My face burns just thinking about it.
Margot unzips the first bag without acknowledging my presence. "Mr. Calder mentioned the red specifically. The one that has a low back and a high slit. We'll need to tape the bodice to avoid any incidents."
She's talking to her assistant, a young woman named Elise with nervous hands and beautiful dark brown hair. I watch them set up the makeup station by the window, their voices washing over me like white noise.
When I woke up, my body was still buzzing, still pulsing from the aftershocks. I'd actually gotten off. In my sleep. In Ewan's bed.
There's something deeply wrong with me.
First it was the dream with Henri in the garden, where he morphed into Tristan halfway through. Then last night, no transition at all. Just Tristan from the beginning, in his office in New York. Covered with a mask at first, but then it was a whirlwind of sex without stopping.
I don't understand what's happening to my brain.
For years, sex has become dreadful. Something Ewan takes whenever he wants, regardless of what I want. I learned to disappear during it. To float somewhere above my body until it was over.
But suddenly I'm dreaming about other men? Waking up drenched? Aching for something I haven't wanted in so long I forgot the feeling existed?
Maybe it's some kind of trauma response.
I've read about this. The way the mind sometimes overcompensates. Hypersexuality as escape. Fantasy as a pressure valve for everything the body can't process while awake. Maybe my subconscious is giving me a reprieve. Inventing scenarios where desire isn't something to be afraid of.
Maybe it's just my psyche's way of keeping me from completely withering away.
Except…
I know I didn't imagine the shitty reception and good coffee. And Henri said it like it was nothing, as if he was there in that memory.
It's not possible.
Tristan has no reason to come for me. I made sure of that whenI destroyed everything between us. He moved on. Built a life. Probably forgot I existed the moment I walked out of his.
