Page 70 of Rulebreaker
Even in my head that sounds ridiculous.
So, babe, there’s something you need to know–my husband is sick and there’s only a year left before the prenup runs out…
Ugh.
That’s worse.
How the hell am I going to tell him? Are there any words that will soften the blow?
I’m fucking married.
It’s complicated, and I’m legally protected by a formal separation agreement, but in my heart of hearts I know Atlas is going to feel betrayed. Hurt. Disappointed.
And I don’t know if there’s any way to lessen the impact of what I have to tell him.
Maybe if I start at the beginning…
“Babe?” Atlas’s voice is filled with concern. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve been extra quiet. Do I need to get you something for your stomach?”
“Sorry, no. I’m fine.” I snap out of the dark space my thoughts took me to and realize we’ve just pulled up at a helipad. “Atlas, what are we doing? Do I need to change?”
“First–presents.” He gets out of the car, goes around back and pulls a large gift bag out of the trunk.
“What in the world…” I stare in fascination.
Something tells me whatever he has planned is going to be over-the-top. And it involves a helicopter. Leave it to Atlas.
“Open it.” There’s a faint smile playing on his lips, his eyes burning with a combination of excitement and amusement.
Despite my worry, I can’t help but dig into the bag. The first thing I touch feels like silk and I pull out something long and slinky. It’s red, the same shade as the lipstick I wear that he loves so much.
“I stole a dress out of your suitcase when you were here last and sent it to the shop so they could find something that would fit.”
“I wondered what happened to my little black dress,” I say with a soft laugh. “You’re sneaky.”
“I can be.”
From what I can tell, the dress isn’t long but it isn’t short, somewhere in between with gold metallic straps and soft, fluttery waves at the bottom. I can tell from the cut it’s going to fit me like a glove, and I sigh happily.
“This is beautiful,” I whisper. “And thoughtful. But I don’t–”
“Keep going,” he encourages. “There’s lots more.”
This time I dig in with excitement, because when your gorgeous, thoughtful and stupidly rich boyfriend buys you presents, it’s bound to be special. I feel a large box and my gut tells me it’s shoes.
Ah, yes.
To go with the dress.
My heart nearly explodes with excitement.
Jimmy Choos.
My favorite—how the hell did he know that?—with rhinestone straps and the tallest, sexiest little heel.
I don’t bother checking the size–Atlas is too much of a perfectionist to leave anything to chance.
“You’re going to have to hold my hand a lot if you want me to walk anywhere in these,” I say with a grin.
