Even if that woman is my wife.
CHAPTER 40
LUNA
He left.
Just strolled out the front door. With my dog.
And now I’m alone in the kitchen, all wound up for a fight with no sparring partner.
Should I shout into the air? Shadowbox with my fear that this careful arrangement is ruined?
That I ruined it?
But this isn’t on me. It can’t be.
Charlie never should have made me this ridiculous dinner. He shouldn’t have gotten me gifts that show how much he cares.
He’s a fake husband. When he acted like a real one, he fooled me. My body tricked me into thinking the touching, kissing, licking were all okay. That this was all part of the deal.
But it is specifically not part of the deal because fucking my husband will ruin everything.
“Damn it,” I mutter.
I’m torn between waiting here to have it out with Charlie and retreating to my bedroom, where I can pretend like this neverhappened and nothing changed. That nothing will change for at least another year.
But as I avoid looking at the area of the counter I just orgasmed on, my eyes adhere to the stack of dirty dishes in the sink. Remnants of the delicious dinner Charlie made for me. Some corner of my mind, which wishes the world were fair, informs me I can’t leave the mess for him to handle on his own.
With clenched teeth, I pull on a set of rubber gloves and open the dishwasher.
The appliance is full, and I’m hand-washing the remaining items when the sound of the front door opening tenses my muscles. Heavy footsteps approach the kitchen, stopping somewhere near the doorway. I’d have to turn around to find his exact location, but I decide to stick to the ignore-him tactic for the moment.
There’s a part of me that wants to yell, but I don’t know what words would even come out at this point.
I flinch as a tall body steps up beside me. Charlie slides a dish towel off the hook and picks up a large pot I just set in the drainer.
He’s helping. Of course he is.
“I’ve got this,” I gripe, needing him and all his delicious smilingness to find another room to be in so he’s not here, looming over me.
“I don’t mind.”
The sound of his voice starts up a new throbbing between my legs, which I ignore.
I continue through the task, moving robotically. Hating every silent second. The lack of noise is a weight bearing down on how big of a mistake I just let happen.
Encouraged to happen.
Maybe Charlie just went along because he felt he had to.
Ugh. The idea curdles my stomach.
Likely, my fake husband is now trying to figure out the best way to let me know this agreement is over. To break this crushing tension, I decide to give him an opening. An easy door to step out of my life so we can end this awkward night sooner than later.
“If you want out, I get it.” With a more forceful push than necessary, I shut off the sink. Luckily, I don’t break the faucet with my heavy-handed moves.
“Want out? Of what?”
