“Sensitive as always.” I wrap my arms around myself, wishing they were his. “I don’t want to fight right now. I’m tired—I haven’t slept. I…”
Instantly, his face softens, and he stretches out his arm, offering me his hand. “Let’s go home.”
As I take it, the moment feels pivotal, as if it will change everything, but I am incapable of stopping it.
“What about the gala?”
“I made the rounds.” He shrugs. “I have a wife to care for.”
He makes me feel like I am his sole priority, a heady feeling I could get drunk on.
“You give me whiplash,” I whisper, savoring the way he cradles my hand, his larger one engulfing mine.
He gives it a little squeeze. “Ditto.”
With the ceasefire in place, we smile, pausing for a picture on the way out. Then we leave—together.
9
VIAN
She came back. I can’t stop looking at her, gorging on her beauty after days of darkness claiming my damn soul. This week has been fucking brutal, swinging from one extreme to another like a pendulum on crack.
Hope blooms in my arid chest, the knowledge that our separation was just as brutal for her reviving my entire being.
On the drive home, she leans into me and says meekly, “I acted like a jerk.”
I chuckle. “Is that an apology, wife?”
She lifts her chin and arches an intent brow. “Where is yours? You acted like one too.”
“You drive me wild, you know that?” I touch her face and brush my nose against hers. “Your apology needs some work.”
“You first.”
“I’m not sorry for wanting you.”
She giggles, slapping my chest and resting her palm there. “Be patient with me, okay? I know I am too much…”
“You’re just the right amount of perfect.”
A playful tilt teases her lips. “Are you trying to seduce me, husband?”
“Is it working?” I ask, inhaling her summer-garden scent into my frozen lungs.
Fuck, I don’t know if this is reality or a dream, but I couldn’t care less. If losing my mind means I can have her, so be it. I’d forsake my life and relinquish my sanity just to feel her.
“You make me feel all over the place, Vian. I don’t know how to deal with that.” A line digs between her brows, and her fingers curl in my shirt.
She doesn’t have to worry. I am not going anywhere.
“The feeling is mutual.” I press my lips to the corner of her mouth, and she lets out this little sound—half moan, half surrender—that does inexplicable things to me.
She sighs contentedly, biting her lower lip. “What are we going to do?”
“Figure it out. Together.”
A soft smile tugs at the corners of her mouth, warming my insides. “I like that.”
