Page 80 of Lead Me Knot

She stops, tilts her head to the side, and hits me with a glare so hard it about knocks me backward. “Don’t call me that. You’ve lost your privileges.”

I balk. “My privileges?”

“Yes. You’ve lost them as my husband and myfriend. You can call me Lauralee or Ms. Knot. That’s it.”

“I prefer Mrs. Greene.”

She scoffs with an exaggerated eye roll. “I bet.”

A clue to what’s fucking going on would be nice, but it doesn’t seem like I’ll get that luxury. “Why are you always saying that? You’ve said it three times today.”

I swear that steam shoots from her ears. “This is why I can’t talk to you. You do stuff like that and expect me to just fall over like a domino at your whim. Not this time.” She starts for the house again, giving the partygoers surrounding the pool a wide berth.

I know better than to push this too far in the middle of the party. We go inside. I give her some space to get ahead of me again, sensing she needs it. And though I have plenty to say, I wordlessly follow her to the bedroom. As soon as I close the door, I keep my tone lowered and say, “Please talk to me.”

She’d already launched her suitcase onto the bed, but her hands stop after she unzips it. With her back to me, I can tell the debate she’s having with herself by the way she shakes her head before looking down, clenching her eyes closed. She finally turns around, tears streaking her cheeks, but she holds her head high. “Tagger texted earlier when you were in the store. I’m not sure if you got it.”

“What did he text us about?” I’m already pulling my phone from my back pocket, but dread is kicking in. My heart starts thundering in my chest when I touch the screen to see a missed call from a client, which I knew about, but beneath is a buried message chain.

“It wasn’t to us. It was to you. You left your phone in the car when you got the ice cream.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.Fucking hell.

She sits on the bed, her body leaning on the suitcase as if she needs the support. “I can explain,” I start as I tap on his name.

“I’m sure you can, Baylor,” she replies with no argument, but it doesn’t sound like there’s room for the truth either. “Or should I say bet?”

I read both of his messages and then look back at her. My feet want to move, but I hold myself back, thinking that this is about respecting her space and not me right now. When a tear dangles from her chin, I whisper, “I’m sorry.”

She nods and pushes herself up like this is the last of her energy left. Flipping open the suitcase, she whispers, “I bet.”

Fuck me.

“I know you’re hurt, Lauralee.” I take a step closer, not wanting to creep up on her, but I can’t stand the distance.

Turning around, she huffs. “You know because you’re the one who hurt me.”

“I did.”

“Knowingly.” She drops her head into her hands and starts crying, her sobs muffled, but the ache is heard. It’s fucking torture to see her in pain, but especially because I caused it. Did I really think this would end any other way? I’m so fucking stupid. When she lifts her head, her brown eyes shine with gold and those beautiful flecks of green in the evening sun streaming through the window. “I fell in love, but I was nothing more than a bet to you.”

“I love you. That is real. When you said it felt real last night. It feels fucking real to me, too. I didn’t even know I had a soul until you came along.”

“But you decided mine wasn’t worth the vows you spoke.” Putting her hands on her hips, she looks down at the carpeted floor and shakes her head again. When she looks up, she says, “I don’t know how to get a divorce since this is new to me.” She laughs without humor in it. “Twenty-four hours. Must be some kind of record.”

“We don’t have to make any rash decisions. Nothing has to be decided right this second. Please. Let’s?—”

“The worst part is that I don’t even know if I can afford a divorce, but let me make one thing clear. You and I are through.”

The words are sharp, cutting right into my chest and severing my heart. Like my soul, it didn’t come to life until I fell in love with her. That confession won’t help, and other words don’t come, the ones that would make this right as she hurries to pack and abandon my life. Losing her is the last thing I want. I can’t.

She grabs three dresses from the closet, pulling them from the hanger. “I was naive. I didn’t know what I was getting into. That’s what I get for following my heart instead of my head.” Throwing the dresses in the suitcase and fisting her hands at her sides, she yells, “I married you because I loved you. If I didn’t . . .” She sucks in a harsh breath. “This wouldn’t—” She shuts her mouth abruptly, grabs a small bag from the nightstand, and tosses it on top of her clothes.

I brace myself for the response before daring to ask the question. “This wouldn’t what, Lauralee?”

“This wouldn’t hurt so much.” She sinks onto the bed, her feet barely reaching the floor. “I trusted you had changed. You haven’t.”

I walk to the far side of the bed and sit. I’ve never felt worse in my life. “If I could change this?—”

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