Page 119 of The Wrong Husband
Drew: When are you back?
I type out a quick reply.
Me: In a couple of days.
Drew:I miss you.
I frown. That knot of tension at the base of my neck throbs.
Of course, he’s messaging me when I'm feeling light for the first time in ages.
It’s always the same pattern. He seems to pop up just when I’m reclaiming a little happiness. Like he knows I might finally be okay without him and can’t stand it.
I’m not going to feel guilty about breaking up with him. I’m not going to give in to his bullshit tactics of making me feel responsible for what happened between us.
I clench my jaw. Well, tough.
I’m not going to spiral into guilt. Not this time. I’m not going to let him manipulate me into thinking I owe him something.
I grit my teeth, force my hands to stay steady, and type back a reply intended to convey that he can’t take any more of my peace.
Me:You know we don’t have that kind of relationship anymore. You really should move out.
Drew:Just give me a little more time to get to grips with everything.
"Who’re you messaging?"
"What?" I press the side of the phone, so the screen goes dark, then turn it upside down.
He gives me a strange look, then walks over to the table. He sets a domed plate in front of me, and one in front of his seat. He reaches for my phone, and before I can react, he’s picked it up. "I’m going to put this aside, along with my device. I want us to have this time uninterrupted by the outside world."
His tone brooks no argument. If I say I want to keep my phone, it’s going to seem strange, so I nod. "I’m going to charge it along with mine." He turns and heads inside—presumably to the galley—since he returns in seconds.
Removing the dome from my plate, he announces, "Pan-roasted sea bass on pea purée with grilled asparagus and a poached egg." He takes the seat next to me.
My mouth waters. Only then, do I realize how hungry I am. "You didn’t cook this, did you?"
He snorts. "I can cook, but not this fancy. Nope. James recommended a local chef who had this cooked and delivered to us for brunch."
"You planned for this, too?" A soft sensation squeezes my chest. To think, this man thought through all of this, then made it happen—overnight. "That’s a lot of scheduling and organizing."
"I wanted it to be perfect." He places his hand over mine. "We’re only going to be married once. I wanted it to be everything you could hope for."
"It is." I turn my hand over so I can entwine my fingers through his. I’m deeply attracted to him. And my body craves him. And I have no doubt, he’s going to make sure I enjoy every moment when we first make love. I’m sure, it’s going to be far more passionate and erotic than just 'making love' but… Somehow, these thoughtful things he’s done for me feel even more intimate. "Thank you."
"You’re welcome." He brings my hand to his mouth and kisses my fingertips. "Eat now. I want to make sure you keep your strength up." He winks.
That ever-present chemistry between us leaps to the surface. I feel my cheeks flush. To distract myself, I cut into the sea bass. It’s so soft, it melts on my tongue.
"This is so good."
"I’ll pass your compliments on to the chef." He digs into his own food.
For a few seconds the only sounds are the clinking of our cutlery as we polish off the food. When I’m done, I sit back. "That was delicious."
He takes a sip of his champagne and tops me off before relaxing in his chair.
I take in his gorgeous face, his hair ruffled by the breeze. The shirtsleeves, which he’s rolled up to reveal his veiny forearms—oh God, those forearms.The pulse between my legs turns more insistent.
