Page 84 of One Wealthy Wedding

27

Cat

The lingerie must trip something in my overactive brain, because that night, I wake from a deep sleep at two a.m. with a parched mouth and gritty eyes. I’m unsettled, like I had a bad dream I can’t remember. I need a glass of water, and then I’ll go back to sleep. I slip into the hall, where moonlight streams in from the high windows at either end. I hate walking around this house at night, especially past the open doors to unused guest rooms, each yawning like the maw of some awful beast. I pad down the runner, thick pile squishing under my toes.

And then I hear it.

A low groan comes from Theo’s room. I freeze. Keep walking, Cat. I don’t want to know what he’s doing in there. I don’t even want to imagine it. But I am imagining it. He left after the embarrassing lingerie show, and I didn’t hear him come in earlier, which means it was late. His door isn’t fully closed, I guess because he’s used to living alone. The sheets rustle. He hisses a breath.

“Fuck, yeah, like that.”

Oh my god. He has a woman in there. He has a woman on the other side of the wall we share. Why am I so damnably upset by that? This is fake. My nails make little half moons in my palms. So what if he does? Fake, Cat. It’s fake. Move the fuck on.

I’m just off kilter from the way he looked at me earlier.

When I look at you, I feel like I can’t breathe.

What the hell is that supposed to mean, anyway?

I need to keep walking, because if I hear him pleasuring whoever is in there, I’ll go insane. But instead of walking, I stay rooted to the spot. I imagine that girl from the summer Theo and I stopped speaking. She’s an influencer now. In my mind, her hands are on his chest and her head is thrown back. Anger spirals inside me, tighter and tighter, until I think I’m going to burst. Theo’s voice is low, his soft grunts and the sound of skin moving against skin coming clear through the cracked door.

I hate him. I hate him so much. And I hate that part of me wants to be that woman in there with him.

“Oh, baby, I’m so close,” he says in a hoarse rumble, and honestly, fuck this.

I slam both hands against the door. “You irredeemable prick,” I say right as Theo says, “Cat,” and jerks his hand away from his cock. In my split second of shock, I see him like a series of photo snapshots—there, his magnificent form spread on the bed. There, his rigid erection against his equally firm stomach. There, the tattoo swirling over his bare chest. There, the naked desire written across his face. Before I can react, his face twists and his mouth parts and he grits, “Turn around.”

I whirl, but not before I see his body jerk as he comes. The sound of his groan echoes in the quiet room.

I don’t speak. I don’t know if I can. I shouldn’t have seen that, and yet I can’t stop thinking about it. Theo, naked, and lit only by moonlight is an image I’ll savor for the rest of my life. I imagine I’ll recall it on particularly lonely nights, long after this marriage is over, and I’ve just seen Theo in yet another news article. His body is living, breathing art, all long lines and corded strength. He seems made for a woman to touch, and I so badly want to. I curl my fingers in my palms while I wait for him to say something.

If he teases me, I’m going to lose it. I’ll run, or I’ll join him on the bed, and I’m not sure which.

“Catherine.” He clears his throat. “What are you doing in here?”

Thank fuck. He’s just as unsettled as I am.

“I thought you were in here with a woman.”

“So you banged down the door?” I can hear the smile in his voice.

“It seemed the most efficient way to interrupt.”

“Did it?” he drawls. “And what did you plan to do once you got in here?”

I swallow.

He snorts softly. “More importantly, do you really think I would do that?”

“I heard you leave earlier. I thought that you might have brought someone home.”

“I’ll try not to be hurt by that,” he says silkily. “I left to work out because the sight of you in that lingerie made me want to fuck you into the carpet.”

“What did you say?” That can’t be true. Theo doesn’t want me. He’s never wanted me.

When I look at you, I feel like I can’t breathe.

“You heard me,” he says. “I have to assume you were so upset at the idea of me being with someone else that you weren’t thinking rationally at all. Or you came to have a taste. Which is it?”

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