Page 32 of Claimed By the Enemy
Which is why I need to get out of here. Away from Dom, away from this house, away from the magnetic pull that seems to exist between us, no matter how much we both pretend otherwise.
I need perspective. Distance. A chance to think clearly without his presence clouding my judgment.
I need an escape plan.
My phone buzzes against the desk, and I glance at the screen. Amara’s name flashes across it like a sign from the universe.
“Hey,” I answer, already feeling lighter just hearing her voice.
“Please tell me you’re not sitting in that office doing nothing again,” she says without preamble.
“I’m being very productive, thank you.”
“Productive at what? And don’t say nothing, because I know you better than that.”
What’s going on? Where do I even start? My fake marriage to my enemy is getting complicated because I keep having incredible sex with him in inappropriate places. My revenge mission is falling apart because I might actually be developing feelings for the target?
“I need to get away for a while,” I say instead. “Clear my head.”
“Away from work or away from your husband?”
Both. Definitely both. “Just away. Maybe a weekend trip. Something relaxing.”
“Ooh, girls’ weekend?” Amara’s excitement is immediate and infectious. “I’ve been dying for an excuse to get out of the city. Where were you thinking?”
This is perfect. Amara loves planning trips, and she’s good at it. All I need to do is plant the right seeds and let her natural enthusiasm take over.
“Maybe somewhere with water?” I suggest casually. “I’ve always thought a boat trip might be nice. Island hopping, you know?”
“Oh my God, yes. That sounds amazing. There are some gorgeous routes along the coast, or we could do the Sound. I know someone who has a boat we could charter.”
My pulse quickens. A boat means mobility, means options. Once we’re on the water, I can direct where we go. And if I plan it right, I can make stops along the way until I’m far enough from New York that Dom won’t be able to track me easily.
“That sounds perfect,” I say, trying to keep the eagerness out of my voice. “When could we do it?”
“Let me make some calls. This weekend might be too short notice, but maybe next weekend? I’ll need a few days to coordinate everything.”
A week. I can survive one more week if it means freedom at the end of it.
“Take your time,” I tell her. “I want this to be perfect.”
“It will be. God, Sophie, this is exactly what you need. Some time away from all the stress and weirdness of your new situation.”
If only she knew how weird it really was.
“You’re the best, Amara. Seriously.”
“I know. Okay, I’m hanging up now so I can start making calls. This is going to be amazing, Sophie. I promise.”
She disconnects, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the first real hope I’ve felt in days.
One week. I just need to survive one more week of this cold war with Dom, and then I’ll be free to figure out what I actually want without his presence confusing everything.
I lean back in my chair, allowing myself a small smile of satisfaction. For the first time since the wine cellar incident, I feel like I’m back in control.
***
“Mrs. Moretti?”
