Page 94 of Choices

“So, is that all?” She tilts her head, looking me up and down like I’m a snack.

“I don’t want to do this shit anymore.” I flick a finger between her and me, taking another drink of the water.

Startled, she blinks rapidly. “What shit?”

“This facade—our marriage.”

“What about last night?” she chokes out, seriously affronted.Am I living in a different universe to her?Last night was fucking horrible. I left her naked and humiliated. I’m not proud of any of it.

“That was a mistake—and we both know it. There’s never been an attraction here for me,” I admit, placing the bottle down. “And you only want to fuck me because it’s convenient.”

“Fuck you!” she retorts, eyes narrowed and claws out. “Your dick didn’t struggle to get hard so you can’t find me that repulsive.”

“You’re putting words in my mouth. I didn’t say you were repulsive. But my dick didn’t struggle because I was thinking about someone else.” It’s harsh, but it’s the truth.

Her features morph into a rage-filled expression. “How dare you say that to me.” Charging toward me, she raises a hand but stops her movement, thinking better of it when I glare at her, daring her to make that mistake. She gulps, her arms dropping to her sides. A tear leaks down her cheek.

“I gave you four years,” I tell her. This can’t be that much of a surprise. Did she really think we could go on living like this? That our empty marriage would be enough for forever.

“What changed?” She sniffs and swallows.

“What?”

“Between then and now, what’s changed?” Crossing her arms, she lifts a brow. “You agreed to marry me. There were reasons you weren’t with her. Have those gone away?”

“No,” I punch out. Claire’s always known, despite pretending she didn’t. She doesn’t need me to confirm it’s Kitty.

“Then don’t do this,” she pleads, gripping the front of my cut.

“I can’t keep doing this to her—to me—to you. Don’t you want to find someone who will give you what you need?”

“I love you,” she whines.

“Don’t fucking lie. It’s pathetic.” I shrug her off me, and she looks away.

Exhaling harshly, she snaps, “What about Rocco?”

“I’ll always take care of our son.”

“And Jericho? What will he think of this?”

“Claire”—I grab her wrist, forcing her to turn and look at me—“this is happening.”

“He’ll see me as expendable if you leave me,” she pleads.

“It’s been four years. You’ve proven yourself. He won’t touch you, I promise.”

Dropping her eyes to my hand clutching her wrist, she places her hand over it. “Can you give us tomorrow?”

“What’s tomorrow?”

“The family cookout at the club. Rocco is really looking forward to it. Let us have tomorrow as a family,” she begs.

Staring into her tear-blurred eyes, I shrug, releasing her arm and exhaling a frustrated breath. “Fine. What’s one more day?”

“Okay.” She wipes her face with the palms of her hands. “I’ll see you then.” Grabbing her purse, she leaves me standing in the kitchen watching her pull out of the driveway through the window.

Unease settles in my chest. That was too easy.

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