Page 10 of The Wrong Husband
This woman barely lets herselfwant. I’ve watched her for weeks—always rushing, always working, always pushing herself past the point of exhaustion. Her hair’s always scraped back like she doesn’t have time to bother. Her clothes? Functional. Her meals? No doubt, she forgets to eat them. She gives her all to everyone else and keeps nothing for herself.
And now, here she is, denying herself a small joy. A damn candle.
I clench my jaw.No.
She should have everything she desires. Everything. And I want to be the one to give it to her. Iwillbe the one. I want to be the reason she stops second-guessing her own worth. The reason she reaches for beauty, for comfort, for pleasure—and takes it without apology.
The desire to care for her grips me with a ferocity that makes my hands curl into fists. I want to protect her. Pamper her. Possess her. I want to be the only man she ever leans on.
That’s it.
I’m done watching.
I’m done waiting.
I’m all in.No going back.
I wait until she’s moved on, then step up to the vendor’s table.
“That one.” I point to the candle she touched. I resist the urge to touch it, to absorb the lingering warmth from her fingers, her scent mixed in with that of the candle.
The vendor eyes me. “The India Ink?”
Of course, she’d choose something related to the written word. Her first stop on a rare day off was the bookshop, after all. I nod.
“Should I wrap it up?”
I glance down the row of stalls toward where Phoenix is sampling a tiny paper cup filled with juice. A strand of hair falls over her cheek. My fingers itch to walk over and tuck it behind her ear. Then, she stiffens and begins to turn in my direction.
On instinct, I step to the side and out of sight on the other side of the stall.
The stall owner arches an eyebrow. “I’ll take that as yes.” He wraps it up.
I pay for it and accept the paper bag from the vendor. Then follow Phe at a safe distance.
I watch as she stops to sample some cheese, exchanges words with a vendor selling the kinds of trinkets that women seem to prefer, then buys some blueberries before she heads for the exit.
She begins to retrace her steps home.
I follow her, ducking behind an SUV parked at the bottom of her street. There’s a VW van in front of it, so there’s no way she can spot me.
She veers onto the path leading from the sidewalk to her house. She pauses mid-step, and my heart seizes in my chest. She turns and glances down the street, right toward my van, andbam-bam-bam,my heart explodes back into action. My breath comes in short pants, like I’ve run for miles.
This is the moment.Thisis when it all changes.
This is when she walks over, when she follows the pull, she doesn’t even realize is guiding her. When she steps out of her world and into mine. When I stop being just a shadow at the edge of her life and become real to her.
I brace myself.
This is when she sees me. Really sees me. When I get to meet her gaze—those gorgeous hazel eyes that have haunted me for weeks—and say,I’m the one who’s been watching over you. I’m the one who knows you better than anyone else ever will.
A weight lifts off my chest, so massive, it makes me dizzy. I’m done hiding. Done watching from a distance. Done pretending I can keep this professional.
If she comes over and looks into my face, I'll be reborn.
And if she doesn’t? Fuck it.I’m done waiting. Because whether she’s ready or not—it’s time.
Time for me to step out of the dark. Time for her to finally see me. To know I’m not going anywhere.
