Page 46 of Open Secrets
“Don’t,” I warn, the word trembling as it leaves me.
“Maria,” he says, softer now, almost pleading. “I love you.”
The air punches out of me. I stare at him, shocked, frozen. My chest hammers. For a second, I can’t even process the words. And before I can get them out—before I can move—he leans in and presses his mouth to mine.
It’s not rough. It’s not forceful. It’s worse. It’s gentle. Wanting. His lips linger, coaxing instead of taking, and for one terrifying moment… I let it happen.
Too long. Far too long.
Reality slams back in. I shove him hard, breath breaking in my throat. “I can’t.” My voice cracks as I scramble for my coat, clutching it to my chest. “I love my husband. I’m sorry—”
“Maria—” he starts, but I don’t let him finish.
I bolt. Out of the booth, through the crowded bar, out into the freezing night. My breath clouds white in the air as I stumble to my car, fumbling for my keys like my hands don’t belong to me.
By the time the engine roars to life, my chest is shaking, my mouth still burning with a kiss I never should’ve allowed. I grip the wheel so tight my knuckles ache.
And then I drive. Fast. Straight home. Before I can make a mistake I’ll never come back from.
By the time I walk in, the house is quiet. The kind of quiet you only get when every kid has been bribed, cajoled, or flat-out begged into bed before their time. The dining table glows under candlelight, two wine glasses gleaming like they’ve been waiting all night. Plates set. Silverware polished.
Lyle steps out from the kitchen, a dish towel slung over his shoulder, grinning like he’s twenty again. “Hey. I thought you’d be longer. But you came just in time.”
Before I can answer, he crosses the room, his hand warm as it closes around mine. He leads me to the table like we’re in some old movie, pulling out my chair, guiding me down.
“I had to bribe the kids with promises of pizza tomorrow,” he admits with a smirk, “but worth it. Anything to have you to myself tonight.”
His smile doesn’t falter—until he really looks at me. “What’s wrong?”
The words tear out of me before I can cage them. “A man kissed me tonight.”
Everything freezes. His face changes in a heartbeat—smile wiped clean, jaw tightening, eyes darkening like a storm breaking open.
“What?” His voice drops low, dangerous. “Who.”
“Sascha,” I say, my own voice unsteady.
He blinks. “I thought Sascha was a woman.”
I shrug helplessly, shame burning hot across my cheeks.
His chair scrapes back. He’s on his feet, pacing, hands fisting. “I’ll kill him,” he spits, already halfway past me like he’s ready to walk out the door.
I grab his arm, desperate. “Stop.”
He wrenches around, eyes blazing. “This man—”
“—loves me.” The words leave me hollow, cracked.
It’s like I’ve struck him. Shock ripples across his face, confusion chasing it, his anger bending under the weight of something heavier. He stares at me like he doesn’t recognize me.
Slowly, he sinks back into his chair. His voice is rough, tentative. “Do you… do you love him?”
“No.” I shake my head hard, no hesitation, no doubt. “I don’t.”
Relief flickers across his face, but it’s fleeting, fragile. Because then I breathe out the truth that’s been killing me.
“But I can’t do this anymore either.”
