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Everyone’s so touchy.
I continue up the stairs. A chill runs up my spine as I approach the oversized mahogany doors to the master bedroom.
Turning the doorknob, I tip toe along the plush black and white oversized rug covering the mahogany floor. The walls are black. The king-sized bed is a charcoal gray. My gaze sweeps the room. The furniture is a darker shade of gray, too.
My heart squeezes in my chest for Nick.
He’s an unhappy man. All because of you, Kinsley.
I lift my head high.
He held out the truth. That isn’t my fault.
I place my shoes on the floor next to a gray chair. Moving closer, I pick up the t-shirt resting on the pillow. My heart aches as I realize he kept it. Fighting back tears, I force myself to push down these overwhelming emotions. My gaze wanders over to the man lying in bed.
His broad muscled olive complected chest is partly hidden by the sheet. In his hand, he holds something tightly. I squint my eyes and realize they are my panties. Holding back my feelings again, my eyes move over his face, that seems chiseled from marble.
He's aging gracefully; at thirty-four. The man is deliciously gorgeous.
And now, I'm supposed to sleep with him. Correction:fuck him, Kinsley.
Why isn’t life fair?
His cute, pointed nose had slid along my slit countless times, each one just as pleasurable as the last.
It was like it was his sole purpose in life to please me, as if he was put on this earth for that very reason. But I still can't wrap my head around what makes me so special to him.
As I continue to gaze at him, memories flood back of his chiseled jawline and those sinful lips that have left their mark on every inch of my body.
How am I supposed to sleep with the man I love? I mean loved. We’ve been a part for many years. The spark is gone.
You little liar. If the spark is gone, why were your panties wet earlier?
I force myself to take a sip of wine, trying to push away the urge to run my fingers through his silky, jet-black hair tousled in the sexiest way.
And those long lashes. Oh, how many times have I kissed them in between murmurs of affection. And when he gazes at me with those intense green eyes, flecked with hints of black, it's as if he can steal my breath away all over again.
I continue holding onto the t-shirt as I enter the walk-in closet, my curiosity piqued. My jaw drops when I see what's inside.
What in the world?
Whose clothes are these? Tossing the t-shirt over my shoulder, I examine a gold formal gown, noticing it’s my size. I check a few more labels and they all match my exact size.
Suddenly, it clicks - my file at the Wife for Hire Agency contained all of my measurements and preferences.
Would another wealthy husband have done the same if he knew I was moving into his home? It's hard to say.
But knowing Nick, it doesn't surprise me that he would go to such lengths. That's just the type of man he is. He often spoiled me with clothes and jewelry. The corner of my top lip twitches at the thought of the jewelry.
Instead of using the master bathroom, I make my way down the hall to one of the many guest bathrooms. After flipping on the lights and locking the door, I let out a sigh of relief. I gulp down the last bit of my fruity wine and place the glass on the counter.
Standing in front of the oversized mirror, I slowly inch backward until I feel the cold wall press against my body. My hands shake as I fiddle with the zipper on the back of my dress. I finally manage to get it unzipped. A feeling of repulsion claws up my throat.
Music. I need music. But of course, I forgot my damn phone. My eyes catch sight of an iPad built into the shower wall and I let out a relieved exhale. Thank God. As I scroll through the song options, searching for something to numb me during this excruciating process, I unhook my bra and toss it carelessly to the floor.
The intense notes of a classical piece engulf me like a suffocating cocoon. With shaking hands, I peel the pretty dress off my body, fling it angrily to the side.
"What will you say to him about that?" I mutter, pointing at the long, jagged scar that runs vertically along my torso, a constant reminder of the trauma I've endured.
