Page 39 of Wished

Okay, I can see how I’m not making a very good case. But at least he’s distracted from my wish. I wave my hand. “It doesn’t matter. Regardless, last time I made a wish, reality didn’t flip until the next morning.”

Max nods. “Fine.” He holds the necklace up to the light, letting the sunlight stream through the gems. “Just in case, I’m going to wish too.”

He glances at me and I give an encouraging smile.

“Good idea.”

He closes his eyes. His shoulders relax and he lets out a long breath.

I study the line of his jaw, the little bump on the bridge of his nose, the deep richness of his skin, the sweeping of his eyelashes against his cheeks. His face is just as hard and austere as it was years ago, but it’s more familiar now. I have the strongest urge to reach out and brush my fingers along his jaw and smooth my hands over his cheeks. I’d like to touch his lower lip and see if his mouth is as hard as it looks, or if it’s actually soft and gentle.

He grips the necklace tightly, and as he’s backlit by sunlight, standing with his eyes closed, surrounded by hundreds of books, in the library I’ve cleaned for years, he says with fervent conviction, “I wish I didn’t forget this necklace on my desk yesterday morning. I wish Anna and I never spoke. I wish we never married. I wish we never met.”

His words drop from his lips and fall like boulders from a great height, crashing to the floor of the canyon where I’m lying, crushed, beneath his wish.

12

I sitacross from Max at the long, formal dining-room table. The candlelight casts a warm yellow glow over the room, glinting off the gleaming wood and reflecting off the burgundy walls. The chandelier throws sparks of light off the fine china, the silver, and the crystal wineglasses. The antique cut of the crystal glasses throws prisms of light around the room. It’s as if we’re inside a jewelry box surrounded by diamonds and rubies and flickering gold.

This room didn’t exist yesterday. Well, it did, but yesterday the walls were a dirty beige and the table and chairs were covered by a long canvas cloth. It had the air of a dusty, closed-up attic even though I swept away the dust every week. But now the room glitters and shines and romances.

Which is entirely the point.

It’s our anniversary dinner. A night ofromance.

Max closed himself in his office for the day while I wandered the library, explored the vastly altered interior of the chateau, and spent entirely too long in the biggest walk-in closet I’ve ever seen.

When Max came out, hungry, growly, with a hunted expression in his eyes, he was accosted by Madame Blinken. She informed him dinner would be ready in thirty minutes, per his request.

“I don’t want dinner,” he’d snapped.

“You don’t want to celebrate your beloved wife? You don’t want the dinner we have spent weeks preparing?” she’d asked, puffing out her chest like a general preparing for battle.

I’d glided around the corner in my new silver silk dress. It hit mid-thigh and was cut simply, with narrow spaghetti straps. I’d settled on it because most of the other clothes in my closet were elaborate, brightly colored, or drew way too much attention to my assets. In fact, I never knew my breasts were so round until I tried on some of the dresses with their built-in bustiers. I never knew my legs were so long until I pulled on a few of the short skirts. It was a revelation. But in the end, instead of pulling on one of the alluring, low-cut dresses, I settled on the simple, classic, unadorned silk.

When Max saw me, his eyelids drooped and his mouth softened. A small puff of air left him as if my appearance had kicked him in the gut. Then his hunted look returned even stronger. I ignored it.

“It’s just dinner. You have to eat,” I’d whispered.

I’m not hungry,his expression said.

I raised my eyebrows.I didn’t say you were hungry.

He pointedly avoided looking below my neck.

“Fine,” he’d said.

So now we’re seated in a jewelry box with candlelight, wine, and the soft sounds of classic French jazz drifting across the dining room.

It’s a seduction scene if I’ve ever seen one.

The table is set with the most delicious dishes.

Terrine de Foie Gras, marinated in sweet sauternes and freshly grated black truffle. The savory, meaty scent is overlaid with the earthy, mouthwatering allure found in every bite of truffle.

Grilled stuffed oysters, full of lemon and fennel, of course—because there can’t be seduction without the flesh of oysters coyly winking from their shells.

Filet Mignon, tender and luxurious, perfectly cooked so that it melts on your tongue.

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