How could she turn into someone I barely recognized? Someone who spent a year dodging rough patches, spinning lies, sneaking around.
Was she the one who changed?
Or was it me? Was I the one who failed her?
I must have.
Why else would she fall out of love? Stop offering me her head, her heart, her body?
Yes, we fucked that last year. But it was different. She wasn’t there. She was off someplace. Thinking of him.
I insist Ty spends the night in an extra bedroom. He’s in no state to drive.
He complains a bit, but he still stumbles to the room.
I undress. Shower. Join Eve in the bedroom.
She stirs as I slide into bed. Blinks her eyes open. Looks up at me with a soft smile. Then her eyes flutter together.
She reaches for me. Slides her hand over the sheets.
I take it.
Her eyes still closed, she closes the distance between us. Wraps her arms around me. Melts into me.
She doesn’t say anything. She’s asleep. It’s her subconscious.
It means something.
And it means something that I hold her close. Feel her heartbeat against my chest. Fall asleep with her in my arms.
Chapter Forty-Four
Eve
For the first time, I wake before Ian.
Watch the sun cast highlights over his body.
He’s not wearing a shirt. Or pants. Only boxers.
It’s the most naked I’ve seen him.
Or maybe that’s arguable. I mean, I’ve had him in my mouth, so—
Ahem.
He’s handsome, not beautiful, but with the morning sun surrounding him in a soft glow—
This is beautiful.
The steady rise and fall of his chest. The softness in his brow. The ease in his shoulders.
No secrets, no subtext, no heartbreak.
Not his. Not mine. Not the pain of parting.
Only peace.
And those lines of ink. They’re more obvious in the light of day. Without all those clothes in the way.
An in memoriam for his father.
A Latin quote.
Veritas lux mea.
Truth is my light. I’m not sure that’s the translation, but I recognize enough.
When did he get it? Before his marriage? After it fell apart?
And the tree with roots reaching into the ground—
My fingers itch to trace the art. To feel his skin. To soak up every ounce of meaning.
I want to know him. In a way I’ve never wanted to know anyone.
It’s hard to explain. Overwhelming. As overwhelming as my desire.
Somehow, I keep my hands to myself.
I slip out of the bed. Into the bathroom. Move through my morning routine.
I run a brush through my hair. Then quick makeup. Moisturizer, concealer, eyeshadow, eyeliner, brows, mascara, blush.
Enough I see a badass in the mirror. Enough I have a shield.
I love my look. It feels like me. But it feels like too much today.
I don’t want a shield. I want to strip away everything between me and Ian. So I can feel all of him and he can feel all of me.
Am I ready for that?
I don’t know. I certainly look better without the dark circles. Less tired. Less hungover.
My head isn’t throbbing, but it’s a little achy. And the light is too bright. And my stomach is… ugh.
Alcohol. So many charms. Why is it people adore it so much? Besides the loss of inhibitions?
Or maybe that’s everything. What makes it terrifying. What makes it appealing.
I want that now. To climb into bed with him. Spill every thought in my head. Every feeling in my heart.
Listen and stay. Have me and stay. Please, whatever you do, stay.
Ahem.
I move into the bedroom. Ian is still asleep, peaceful.
There’s a sound downstairs. Footsteps. His brother.
I change into the first thing I find. A chiffon dress I bought for the trip. A gorgeous floor-length black number. With thin straps, a low neckline, a breezy skirt.
Too sexy for the circumstance.
Or maybe not sexy enough. Ian did promise…
I try to put the thought out of mind. Try to find a solid I’m not thinking about fucking your brother face. Then I move into the hallway. Down the stairs.
The house is even more beautiful in the morning.
No sign of last night’s dinner. Or drinks. No empty bottle of gin on the counter. No water stain on the table. No agony in Ty’s expression.
He nods hello. Offers an easy smile. Motions to the coffee maker. “How do you take it?”
Mmm, the java smells good. It always does. Rich and robust. I drink coffee in the mornings when I don’t have other options. But I always feel off. Like I started my day on the wrong foot. “Tea.”
He nods of course. “Are you like Ian?”
“Handsome and tall? I try.”
He chuckles. “Can’t stand coffee?”
“I can stand it.”
His laugh gets easier. His expression gets knowing. “I see why he likes you.”
“That means something.”
“You know you’re funny.”
“I do.”
“And quick. Smart.” He looks at me carefully for a moment. Then he turns to the neat row of appliances. He fills the electric kettle. Returns it to its stand. Hits the number for boil. “He’s rather boring. Drinks English Breakfast.”