Page 112 of Filthy Little Regrets

That actually sounds like a dream. I’m not the type to fill my weekend with things to do. The best days are those spent at home, cocooned in a nest of blankets and pillows. A lot of people would hate that. The eggs sizzle on contact as I pour them in and avoid his gaze. “Don’t you have big, important corporate things to do?”

“I’m about done with big, important corporate things,” he mutters.

“Oh?”

His mug clacks on the countertop when he sets it down. “There’s always been an exit plan. Believe it or not, this isn’t how I wanted to spend my life.”

Before we got married, I would have laughed and said, yeah right, but now that I know everything, I get it. His dad is a piece of shit who forces the people he loves into situations they don’t want to be in.

I stir the scramble. “Can you grab the bowls?” There’s not enough time for me to move away without risking ruining the eggs.

“Yes, ma’am.” Mace moves with impressive speed for someone covered in bruises, and right as the dish is ready, he sets the bowls down.

“Perfect, you did so good,” I tease him.

He swats my ass.

I glare at him. “Don’t start.”

He pouts.

“Nope. I’m not falling for those doe eyes. You’re injured, and as much as we’d both enjoy a little hanky-panky?—”

“Hopefully more panky than hanky,” he cuts in.

I point the spatula at him like a knife. “Shh, no one told you to speak.”

He holds up his hands in apology and presses his lips together.

A grin tugs at my lips. “As I was saying, we’re going to eat. Binge-watchThe Bear. Eat some more. Maybe even take a nap. Got it?”

“I’d like it noted for the record, I’m being held against my will.”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you,” I say, shaking my head and splitting breakfast between the two dishes.

“Too soon?”

I roll my eyes. “You’re so annoying.”

“You like it.”

Smashing my lips together, I neither confirm nor deny the accusation. With our breakfast ready, we head to the living room, sitting side by side. Mace holds up his fork and I clink mine with his. He smirks, flashing dimples that have quickly become my favorite, and turns on the TV.

“Look at us,” he says as he finds the show. “We’re almost normal.”

As normal as we’ll ever be, but maybe there’s a certain sort of beauty in different. Maybe I can be happy here. Wouldn’t that be nice?

thirty

CASSIA

Some days are heavier than others, but today is the heaviest of them all. It’s the same every year. Life is moving, and this year, I’m busy working, searching for evidence against Darius. Then I look at the calendar. Everything comes to a screeching halt.

It just . . . stops.

My breathing, my heart, the thoughts racing through my mind, even the air around me seems to suspend in the moments between being okay and remembering today is the anniversary of my dad’s death. Anniversary is a stupid word. The hollow in my heart isn’t worth celebrating. The ache in my bones, the longing for a fatherly hug I’ll never get again, is a pain I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.

As quick as things stopped, teetering from the abrupt halt, they come crashing around me.

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