Page 38 of Bitter Confessions

He focused on her with a frown. “It’s what?”

“Thanksgiving. Your employees are working today?”

“Why wouldn’t they be?”

“It’s a holiday,” she said slowly. “You do know what holidays are, don’t you?”

He shrugged. “I have back-to-back meetings all day. No one said anything when we scheduled it.”

Of course they didn’t. Apparently, he’d forgotten why he speeded up his business in Berlin—to keep his promise to Lyle that they could spend the holiday with Jasmine’s family. Since she’d recommitted to him, his energy was next-level. He was a bit manic—insatiable, hyperactive, unable to sleep. She’d had to order him to go to his meetings, because his hovering was freaking her out. He’d thrown himself into a work frenzy. She doubted he’d had more than eight hours of sleep in the three days they were in London. His frequent calls to make sure she wasn’t feeling neglected were disconcerting. She didn’t know what to do with this attentive Roth, who was willing to put work aside to be with her. She was in desperate need of rest and space to process, while he seemed to want the opposite.

“What are you doing today?” he asked.

“Writing.” And going to Colette’s for dinner. She’d been planning to mention it, but his packed schedule indicated he wouldn’t be back until ten or later.

When they arrived back in New York, he’d gone straight to the office from the airport (with her blessing), while she was delivered to 432 Park Avenue. Part of her should be miffed at being locked in another penthouse, but after weeks of living out of suitcases and the unfamiliar being the norm, this felt like home. She wasn’t going to tell Roth that though.

“You can’t work like this,” he said, gesturing to the kitchen island.

“Yes, I can.”

“Everyone needs a space that’s their own to do their best work,” he said absently, narrowing his eyes as he read something on his phone.

The thought of claiming a room in the penthouse and putting her stamp on it made Jasmine uneasy. It felt too permanent.

“I have to go.”

He didn’t ask for a kiss; he simply cupped her chin and lifted her mouth to take what he wanted. He took his time. She wrapped her hand in his coat before he broke the kiss and looked down at her.

“Okay?” he asked.

In the past few days, she’d realized this was his way of asking if she wanted anything of him before he left her.

As she had done every single time he asked, she replied, “Yes.”

He gave her another kiss and brushed his fingers over her right hand before turning away.

She watched him walk through the doorway before looking down at the wedding band on her right ring finger. She hadn’t taken it off since he put it on four days ago. She noticed he’d taken to touching it like a talisman. Wearing two wedding rings was strange, especially since they couldn’t be more different in taste and style. The simple, traditional ring on the right and the modern stunner that someone would slit her throat for on the left... They contradicted one another, but she couldn’t find it in herself to tuck the simple one away.

Sarai had spotted the ring the moment Jasmine walked onto the jet. When she admitted it was her first wedding ring, Sarai had teared up and gone to the back of the jet to calm herself. Sarai seemed to realize the significance of its reappearance. Jasmine was still having a hard time believing Roth had kept it after the lies Maximus told him, and the infidelity documented in her novels. He should have tossed the ring in the trash a long time ago, yet he’d kept it as a reminder. Of what, she still didn’t know.

Once she was sure she had the penthouse to herself, Jasmine refilled her cup and turned out the lights. There was enough illumination from the city for her to walk around without stubbing her toe. She retreated to the window seat and took in the view. She wasn’t sure whether it was the post-orgasm glow or that she’d made it back in time for Thanksgiving, but she was mellow and... happy? She shook her head as she sipped her coffee. She shouldn’t be. Things were far from perfect, but the greater part of her didn’t care. She was living in the moment.

Roth’s behavior during their flight back to New York had kept Mo, Johan, and Sarai riveted. He was a changed man, considerate and doting instead of preoccupied and impatient. He’d sat beside her, which she’d always avoided in the past. When she wasn’t napping, he was all over her—or he’d made sure she was on him, either sitting on his lap or straddling him. He’d carried her into the bathroom twice to have his wicked way with her, and he casually informed her he’d bought a jet with a bedroom for their next trip when he climbed into bed that night.

He was a Roth she didn’t know he could be. Even in the early stages of their affair he’d maintained a serious, detached demeanor. She had never expected him to change. This playful, indulgent side of him was devastating to her peace of mind. She wanted to believe this was the new Roth, but now they were back in New York, she was afraid they’d revert to their routines, habits, and comfort zones. He was already back to his hectic work schedule, which she was initially happy about, but... how long would it take for the novelty of having a full-time wife to wane; for the calls checking in to cease?

She closed her eyes and willed away the anxiety. The urge to grab on with both hands, to nurture the fragile bond between them so it could blossom into something beautiful and vibrant, made her clutch her cup in a white-knuckle grip. When Roth gave, it made her want to give back tenfold. She was scared of going overboard; of reading too much into his attentiveness. It was possible they had an unhealthy fascination with one another because they’d spent so little time together the first time they married. Now they’d be around one another daily, their chemistry would dwindle, and the invisible ties binding them so tightly to one another would finally loosen and fall away.

They had careers and separate paths they were meant to walk. He didn’t shy away from the press, interviews, magazine covers. He was like her father in that sense—using the media instead of letting them use him. Roth wanted to be featured prominently on Wall Street and in high society. That had been his goal from the start. She wanted nothing to do with that lifestyle and preferred the peaceful countryside. She would take what she could get, savoring his sweetness and their time together, knowing it would come to an end all too soon.

She sighed. Regardless of the state of her temporary marriage, she still had work to do. Yesterday, she’d read what she wrote in London: Rex and Juliet’s version of the unpleasant fight she and Roth had in his office their first night in London.

“I played my hand. I wanted to see how far you would let me in. I didn’t expect you to be so accommodating.”

She should have known reading that scene would trigger all her insecurities and make her second-guess everything. She’d ignored two of Roth’s calls and regretted it when she got a text saying he was leaving the office to check on her. When she’d called to tell him she was fine, he demanded to know what was wrong. She’d lied and said she misplaced her phone, to which he replied, “It’s been right next to you this whole time. You watched my calls come in and ignored them.”

Fucking cameras. Would she ever get used to being under constant surveillance? She’d told a half-truth—that she was working and didn’t want to be distracted. She could tell he wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t push it until that evening, when he brought it up again when they were in bed. She’d reassured him she was preoccupied with work, a.k.a. their alter egos, and that it had nothing to do with him.

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