Page 89 of Fault Lines
And it was. The early sunlight filled the room, bright and golden. I wondered if he could sense the afterglow that lingered beneath my skin—a secret he would never guess.
He watched me, a crooked smile tilting his mouth. “I’m glad you’re not sulking like usual,” he said lightly. “Maybe you’ve finally gotten used to our arrangement. Maybe we’re past all the tears and sad glances when you think I’m not looking?”
I stared back at him, caught totally off-guard. Did he really think I could ever become one of those wives who quietly accepted being second, who smiled while her husband took his pleasure wherever he wished? But I had agreed, hadn’t I? I’d signed up to look away, to swallow my pride, not to demand or threaten but to comply. I was supposed to be okay with it. Hisversion of honesty was giving me no illusions at all: he made sure I knew, so I could never claim surprise, never throw down an ultimatum.
It worked, didn’t it? He got what he wanted: his women, his freedom, and a wife waiting at home—for now. But he really believed my smile this morning meant I was content, that I was grateful for the scraps of affection he tossed my way.
I just shrugged. “Maybe.”
I was so angry at the way he expected me to simply yield, to accept this as my place. But in that moment, beneath my calm mask, I was thinking of Nate—a man who needed no one but me. A man who didn’t require me to share.
I took another sip from my latte, savoring the warmth, letting it drift through me. I wasn’t ready to leave Cam. I still couldn’t imagine life without him; he was my whole heart, and even though something was changing, I clung to the memory of us.
From the island, I watched him move, admired the cut of his jaw, the measured force of his confidence. The dark hair, the emerald eyes, his lips—the things that drew so many women to him. It made sense, really, why he was never lacking for attention.
Cam wasn’t a man who gave up what he wanted; he’d fight before he let anything go, and I wasn’t ready to challenge that. Not yet. Still, every hour spent with Nate made me think maybe I could be enough for someone. Maybe that man wasn’t Cam, after all.
“What are you thinking?” Cam broke into my thoughts, his gaze sharp. “You’re a million miles away.”
I just shrugged, stood up, and carried my cup to the sink. He followed, setting his own mug down before glancing at the new espresso machine.
“When did we get that?” he asked.
“This? Oh, um, it was a gift. You’ve only just noticed it?” I let out an awkward laugh.
“A gift?”
“For my birthday,” I clarified, trying to keep my tone easy. “It’s been here a while. It’s kind of hard to miss, isn’t it?”
He frowned, like he was replaying a mental list of who might have sent such a thing, but, mercifully, didn’t push it. He just turned and went upstairs to shower.
Relief left me sagging a little. I didn’t want to be dishonest, but I couldn’t justify why Nate would buy me something so extravagant either. It was better not to offer up explanations.
I finished getting ready, setting a basket of the chocolate chip muffins I’d baked on the table, then slipped into my shoes. Sitting down, I felt a tiny flash of soreness—a physical reminder of last night—and I couldn’t help biting my lip at the memory. There was something delicious about it, something private and freeing.
Cam came back down, immaculate in his tailored suit and crisp shirt.
“Gianelli’s next week?” he asked.
His question caught me off guard. I narrowed my eyes, confused.
“Our anniversary dinner,” he prompted, sounding mildly annoyed.
“Oh!” It dawned on me with a jolt; the date had totally slipped past me this year. Normally, I’d be planning weeks ahead, but lately, everything felt off balance. I checked my calendar, confirming what I thought.
“It’s on a Thursday this year,” I pointed out.
Cam’s expression hardened. “Olivia, do you actually think I’d spend our anniversary with someone else?” His tone was sharp, clipped. “No matter what I do—with work or with you—I never stop putting you first. Still, you don’t believe you’re my number one?”
The old ache twisted in my chest. Maybe I wanted to be the only one. I kept that to myself, not wanting a fight before work.
“I’m sorry, I just thought…” I let the words fade into the air.
He stepped in close, gathered me in his arms, pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead. “You always come first. Our anniversary is important. More than anything else. There’s nowhere I’d rather be than with you.” His voice was soft now, almost pleading.
“I know,” I murmured, fingers smoothing over the muscles in his chest. “I’m sorry.”
He smiled, a tender flash as he brushed a hand along my cheek. “It was nice seeing you smiling in the morning again. I hope this means you’re finally settling in. I know this hasn’t been easy.”
