Page 52 of The Sinner's Sanctuary

“When did the two of you get so tight?”

“What does that mean?” Her tone is sharp, as is her direct look.

I’m too hurt and exhausted to say anything but what I’m thinking. “She sees you more often than I do.”

“You’re busy.”

“I’ve never been too busy for you,” I say.

She stiffens and shifts in her seat. “We have our own hobbies. Our own friends. Nothing wrong with that.”

My chest is tight, and it’s hard to take my next breath. I pour my coffee from the carafe and stir in a packet of sweetener. Like I’m the one who needs to suffer to feel alive, I say, “You should pick a weekend. We’ll go to Palm Beach, just the two of us. Spend some time together.”

Her gaze goes wary, and her tone is laced with caution. “What is this about?”

“You realize that in no part of this arrangement was I expected not to want to be with you.” I don’t know what the fuck has gotten into me today. It’s been ten years, and I’ve never brought this up.Why today?She looks like she’s wondering the same thing.

She sucks in a breath, and I’m jealous of it, too—the air that she welcomes into her body. “I’ll think about it,” she says shortly.

I glance at her, certain she’s joking, but she’s staring studiously at her plate picking at the fruit and taking shallow breaths. “Really?” I ask.

“You’re right. But please—let me think about it. I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”

I reach out and take her hand, and for the first time in a long time, she holds on tight. Some stupid hope rises inside me, and it’s so foreign, I don’t know what to do with it. Putting her fork down, she rests her other hand on top of mine. She meets my eyes. “I love you. No one in the world is as dear to me. You know that, don’t you?”

A lump forms in my throat, but I nod. As tears fill her eyes, I want to do something. Touch her face or kiss her cheek.Anything. But I see the broken thing she was shining through like the cracks never mended at all. Like the memory of what happened to her when I wasn’t there to protect her is still just as fresh as it was the day after.

“Yes,” I say. “Of course.”

“You’re still my world,” she whispers, and my heart shatters again.

“Is there anything I can do?” I ask, desperate for some direction—anything. “You’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”

“You know I would. After everything, who can I trust if not you?”

“I love you,” I tell her.

She strokes my hand before letting it go. “I love you, too. Now, stop. I’ll cry and ruin my make up.”

I wish I felt relieved by this exchange, but I’ve been mollified at best. I feel no closer to her than I did yesterday or last month or two years ago. The devastation is unending. With each day that passes while we pursue meaningless encounters with other people, the dream I once had of us is less and less likely to come true. I take a shaky breath and my coffee and leave the room to wait for an answer I doubt will ever come.

On my wayout of the building to make an appearance at the downtown office, I stop at the front desk to have a brief word with Christian.

Since I haven’t really spoken to him in two days, I’ve managed to halfway convince myself that what happened between us was a travel-induced one-off, but the moment we’re face to face, all the illicit fantasies re-materialize with a realism so stark, it feels like I could reach out and touch them.

The way his cheeks darken with color when he lays eyes on me makes me wonder if he has some fantasies of his own swirling through his mind.

“Are you free for dinner tonight?” I ask.

“Yes,” he says without hesitation.

“And you’ll have an answer for me?”

“I will.”

“You’re really going to keep me in suspense all day?”

His forehead pinches in the slightest of frowns. “The way you asked…”

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