Damn, she looked good. Thinner than he remem
bered, but her curves were still fine as hell, full and lush exactly where she should be. Her smooth skin looked a little paler; the delicious latte shade made his mouth water, assaulted by the recollection of how she tasted against his tongue.
Then he looked closer and saw the shimmer in her dark eyes. Fuck, she'd been crying. Something violent pulsed through his veins. He'd vowed to bring her laughter, not tears, but he'd failed. He gripped the metal arms of the chair to keep from breaking something.
She smiled a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. A forced smile. She stepped in his direction, weaving her way through the small table settings to where he was sitting. "Hi," she whispered as she approached. She stood before him. She looked poised, but he saw how her body trembled, how she held onto an empty chair to steady herself.
"Hey, baby." He stood, moving around the table, and pulled out a chair so she could sit. Her honeyed scent mingled with the sunshine. Part of him wanted to grab her by the shoulders, shake her, and demand answers. Ask why the fuck she'd left him and where the fuck she'd been for the past three years. Rye gulped, fighting the conflicting desires to pull her into his arms and support her. To kiss away the sorrow, to murmur sweet nothings in her ear until she giggled with delight.
He stepped away, retreating back to his chair. Today wasn't about their vows. It was about closure.
"Sorry, I'm late." She touched her hair as she glanced away.
He grinned. She hadn't tried to wrangle it but had left it in wild curls. The way he'd always liked it best. "You're always late."
She flashed him an impish smile and shrugged one delicate shoulder. "True."
"You're so beautiful, Mika." The words came even when he didn't want them.
Her gaze settled on him. She smiled, but there was such sadness in the depths of her eyes. Her hands were on the table, and he had to fight the urge to reach over, take them in his own. To hold them as he always had, to comfort her. A lump of emotion tightened his throat, but he shoved it away. "Baby, you're still so beautiful." He cleared his throat. "You okay? You been all right?"
She licked her lips. "I guess." She worried a plump lip between her teeth. "It took a while, but I'm okay."
Rye looked to the side knowing damn well she hadn't meant to tease him. But his dick didn't give a shit. He'd been semi-hard since he'd seen her, and now she'd reminded him of the magic she could do with her mouth and he was rocked up hard. Throbbing. He shook his head and allowed her words to sink in. He didn't want to want her. Didn't want to feel sorry for her. He wanted the anger to resurface so he could send her on her way, to dismiss her from his life as she'd done to him.
Grabbing the bottle of ale, he took a good long drink and allowed the silence to descend around them. He took another drink, allowing the chilled liquid to cool his heated body.
"Where you been?"
She glanced down, and he could see her shoulders heave as she sucked in a deep breath. After a moment, she looked at him. "I got a small apartment, not much, really. Work from my computer like I did when I went on maternity lea--"
Rye studied his wife's face, the pain so unchecked and raw. All this time, he could have been offering her solace. He sure as hell needed it from her. But the fact that they hadn't had each other was entirely her fault. He'd done everything he could to be there for her even through his own sorrow. She'd shut him out. She was to blame.
A low moan escaped her lips, as if it was painful to continue, but she did anyway. "I don't go out much. Just keep to myself. Work. Read some." She shrugged.
There were a million questions he wanted to be answered, but at this point, they weren't really his business. Not anymore.
"Rye, you didn't call me here to chitchat. You said we needed to talk." Her voice dropped off to a whisper. "So what is it?"
A muscle ticked on his jaw. His shoulders ached with tension. "You're right, baby." Reaching into his back pocket, he withdrew the folded papers and smacked them onto the table. "I need you to sign these."
Her stare fixed on the papers on the table. "What are they?"
"Divorce papers."
He heard her low gasp, but she didn't look at him. She turned her face away, but he didn't miss the giant tear that streaked silently down her cheek.
"What did you expect, Mika? It's been three years. How long was I supposed to wait?"
"I don't know," she squeaked out. "I just wasn't ... wasn't expecting this."
"What were you expecting? Flowers? Candy?" The rage resurfaced. All the stress, the pain, the wondering, the fear, the anger, the hurt. It all came rushing back, shoving aside the strangled love.
She shook her head. The sun had begun to descend, and it shimmered golden in her curls. "No ... No ... I don't know." Her voice was low. Broken. He hated that he caused her pain, but shit, she deserved it.
"You did this to us, Mika. You destroyed us."
"I know." She sobbed.