Page 77 of Sweet Nothings

She sweeps her long curls to the side and over her shoulder, exposing her long, smooth neck. Diamond earrings dangle from her ears and a thin silver chain is wrapped around her neck, the teardrop diamond resting between the perfect swell of her breasts. The subtle shimmer of her dark green dress reflects from the overhead lights almost as brightly as the chandeliers above us. She’s fucking stunning. And all mine.

Once Laurel slides in, I follow behind her.

“If I may, Mr. Harding.” Hugh nervously clears his throat. His squirrely eyes dart anxiously between Laurel and me.

My nostrils flare with impatience, and I grind my teeth. I know where this is going. “What is it, Hugh?”

“I was wondering if we might be able to talk once you’re finished with your dinner. There are a few things I would like to discuss.”

Laurel must sense my desire to bite back at Hugh and his ridiculous request. I didn’t come here to fucking chit chat with him as he cries over missing my father while asking if I can continue whatever disgusting, dysfunctional arrangement they had going on. I don’t know the inner workings of the lengths my father went to secure this fucking booth, but I know it was deep and seedy enough that the crimson wrapped seat isn’t meant for casual dinner conversation over an overcooked piece of filet mignon.

My wife’s hand quickly lands on my knee. She gives it a gentle squeeze before sliding it farther up the inside of my thigh.I adjust myself in my seat, telling my cock not to react to the hand making its way toward it.

I clear my throat and blink up at Hugh. “Not tonight, Hugh. Call my assistant, and she can see when my schedule is free.”

A wave of disappointment rolls over his face, but it doesn’t stay for long. He gives a hesitant grin. “Thank you, sir. Enjoy your dinner.”

Hugh finally disappears.

I blow out a heavy breath and rest my elbow on the table. I massage my forehead with my fingertips. Laurel’s hand lands on my back, pulling my attention to her.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” I reassure her with a small smile. “I just didn’t expect to feel like this walking in here. I figured since I didn’t give a shit that my father died, this place wouldn’t affect me. Instead, all I keep feeling is this bitter, angry resentment. It’s like I was a zombie walking through my whole life, never realizing the impact it had on me until now. Now that he’s gone.”

Laurel doesn’t say anything. Her eyes look up as our waiter places two empty wine glasses in front of us before pouring a bottle of my father’s favorite red wine. Fucking hell.

The waiter asks if we’re ready to order, but I tell him we’re still waiting for Micah and Archer. He hurries off.

I turn to Laurel, realizing this is the first time she’s been back since my father dragged her here, hoping to hook her up with Jude. Laurel wasn’t aware, and Jude wasn’t interested. Then I brought Madison, pretending I didn’t already know Laurel.

I feel like shit for that night. All of it.

As I have my entire life, I wore a mask that night, hiding who I truly was. A man obsessed with the woman that was sitting across from him.

“Areyouokay?” I ask my wife. I set my elbow on the table and rest my head in my hand, half-turning to her.

She sucks in her bottom lip, chewing on it in thought. Her eyes fall to the table before she looks back up. Her shoulders visibly rise as she inhales a breath. “I didn’t realize I hadn’t been here since the night your father brought me.”

I wonder if my father had already written the stipulation to marry Laurel into his will then or if he added it after.

Ever since the night Laurel woke up to one of my panic attacks after my nightmare, our relationship has shifted. Our circumstances aren’t exactly the same, but she understands what it feels like to lose a parent you love wholeheartedly. One you weren’t prepared to lose.

Not that anyone is ever prepared to lose someone they love.

But I saw the emotion in her eyes—the one she held without judgment. It was the first time someone had seen the raw, ugly side I keep hidden from the rest of the world.

I reach under the table and place my hand on Laurel’s thigh. A long slit drives up the length of her dress. It reminds me of her wedding dress, exposing the curve and tan skin of her thigh. I drag my finger across her skin, and it immediately reacts to my touch, as it always does. Goosebumps rise to the surface. I lightly draw the invisible words I’ve been writing for days. It’s become a habit of mine.

I think back to that night and the mask Laurel tried her best to wear.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to tell you how sorry I am for not speaking up that night. I should have said something.”

“Don’t.” she shakes her head. “Don’t feel bad. I get it now. I didn’t then, but I do now.”

“No, Laurel.” I look her in the eye. “Maintaining appearance for the sake of my father shouldn’t haven’t mattered. You didn’t deserve to be used by him. I only added salt to the wound. I made you feel unseen.” I inch my finger to her inner thigh, regretseeping into every muscle. “But I saw you that night. You were all I could see.”

Laurel’s lips part as she breathes in. She’s been sad lately, and I wonder if that’s been part of it. Conflicted because she married and fell for a man who acted as if he didn’t know her.

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