Warm. Smooth.
And entirely too familiar.
Five years didn’t erase muscle memory, and my cock hardens as goosebumps rise across her perfect flesh.
I shove the unwanted reaction down, gritting my teeth as I work downward, each button releasing a breath of heat.
I shouldn’t notice the shiver that runs through her.
I shouldn’t feel my own pulse spike.
It brings back painful memories of a different wedding night—one full of laughter and soft lips and promises made with reckless faith.
Genevieve.
I swallow her name before it kills me.
“We could’ve hired someone to do this,” I mutter.
“And broadcast to the entire staff that I don’t want my husband to touch me on our wedding night? Is it really so hard to just be civil?”
A mirthless laugh escapes me. “Civil? You’re the one who called my family tyrants.”
“If the shoe fits,” she fires back, but the heat has left her voice. It’s quieter now. Sadder. “I don’t hate you because you’re a Chiaroscuro.”
The room tightens. I keep unbuttoning, careful, methodical.
“Why do you hate me, then?”
She sucks in a breath. “You know why.”
I do.
And I don’t. Because even if I was the one who walked away, she betrayed me long before I left her.
I undo the last button, and the dress loosens, baring the line of her spine, all the way down to the dimples that frame it just above her tail bone.
She grips the fabric to her chest so it doesn’t fall.
“Thanks,” she whispers, stepping away like my touch burned her. Maybe it did.
She disappears into the bathroom.
I strip out of my suit, folding each piece with military precision—a habit Genevieve thought was cute, a habit that kept me sane when everything else fell apart.
The sound of water running from the bathroom makes my brain flicker to places I don’t want it to go.
To wet skin wrapped in steam and bodies pressed close. I shut it down. Hard.
I might be married to Aisling, but I’m not her husband.
Not her lover.
Not anymore.
She reemerges wearing cotton shorts and a tank top, her nipples tenting the soft fabric and daring me to look at them.
But I keep my eyes trained on her damp hair, her clean face.
