Page 41 of Prince Cheating Charming

Her anger made me even more hopeful. Anything was better than her cold, frozen indifference.

Davies had moved away and Delilah made as if to leave, too.

“Please, Delilah,” I said, willing my voice to be calm, even though inside I was anything but, the tiny spark of hope making me feel wild and feral. “Let me show you how to fix it.”

For a moment, she held my eyes and I was enraptured, spellbound by her, the way her dark lashes laid against her cheeks, the adorable spray of freckles that definitely hadn’t been there when we were first married.

“Fine,” she said, making my heart leap with a rush of heady joy.

I hoped I’d remember the steps to fix the mower with Delilah’s intoxicating presence beside me.

I brushed her hand as I directed her motions and, without thinking, I held her fingers, cradling them gently in mine. Her hand was soft and warm, and I was filled with a wave of hopelessly desirous longing.

This is the way things used to be.

Taking Delilah’s hand without even thinking twice about it.

I didn’t fully appreciate walking hand-in-hand down a forest trail with her, my backpack full of climbing supplies, everything easy and smooth with her, my shoulders for once relaxed and my whole body happy with my wife beside me.

Like a dipshit, I didn’t appreciate it until it was gone, of course.

She removed her hand carefully, filling me with a deep sense of loss, as she followed my instructions for repairing the machine.

“You pick everything up so easily,” I croaked out, my voice raspy with need.

She’s so close that it’s so tempting to put my hands on her face, pull her closer and kiss her, wrapping my arms around her so I can feel that heavenly sensation again for the first time in weeks.

“Thank you,” she says gently, like I’m her grandmother. “You did a good job of teaching me.”

I’m about to preen under her compliment when she adds, “You’re going to have to learn how to live without me, you know.”

It’s like a dagger to my heart. “No!” I cried. “I can’t do that, Delilah.”

How does she look so effortlessly cool in this fucking boiling weather? I can feel sweat dripping down my face, rolling down my back, but she looks cool and composed.

What a fucking perfect Queen she makes. Calm, collected, sheer perfection in a crisis.

But this is my crisis. I caused it and it’s killing me.

“You can do it,” she replied.

“What will it take for you to believe me that I’m sorry?” I said, steeling my voice, but it doesn’t totally eliminate the low, begging whine that’s under the surface.

I have no dignity I give a fuck about anymore.

“I am begging you, Delilah,” I added. “I have never been so sorry in my life.”

She flicked her eyes over me. What does she see? Does she see a cheating husband that’s lying through his teeth? Or does she see a broken man desperate to have another chance?

“Oh, I believe you’re sorry,” she said in an acid tone. “I believe you want to get back with me. But I just don’t believe you won’t do it again, and I won’t be with anyone I can’t trust.”

“Never, never!” I keen anxiously, scooting closer to her. “I’m not perfect but I can promise I’ll never make that horrible mistake again!”

The thought of even touching another woman makes me nauseated. And, even more, the thought of doing something that hurts Delilah is unendurable.

My knees just touching hers send a fiery heat through my body, the point at which my skin connects with her the only thing saving me from sobbing.

But she shakes her head.

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