Page 18 of Release Me
‘I don’t have much choice. You know our marriage wasn’t one born of love. It was part of a deal brokered by our families.’ She exhales a heavy breath. ‘I was played like a pawn, and warned not to complain, because I got everything I wanted—my own division of the business, my own slice of the pie.’
‘So broker a new deal now your company is in a better position.’ If Anthony had any idea I was trying to talk his wife into leaving him, he would legitimately rip my head off and shove it down my neck. It’s for her sake, not for mine, because even if she left Anthony, she could never be mine. Anthony would never stand for it. But at least she might have some chance of happiness.
‘It’s not that simple.’ She shakes her head. ‘There were stipulations in the contract if we were to ever consider divorce. If I file against him, everything I’ve worked for, everything I’ve built with his family’s investment would behis. And I know he would take pleasure in burning everything I’ve built to the ground—while I’m in the building.’
She’s right. My friend is ruthless in business, ruthless when it comes to acquisitions, and ruthless when it comes to personal affronts. And if she tried to divorce him, he would take it very personally. He has one hell of a temper.
‘If he doesn’t publicly humiliate me, I don’t actually care.’ She shrugs, and I know it’s not entirely true. Maybe a part of her does care for him? Something stabs my sternum at the mere idea. He doesn’t deserve her love.
‘It’s no way to live.’ I shake my head.
‘It’s the only way Icanlive,’ she says sadly. ‘But just so you know, I… I like you too.’
My glass stills, halfway to my lips. Her admission detonates a bomb of emotions inside of me—heat, hope, longing. My greedy gaze eats her up, lust lances my stomach. She likes me. She fucking likes me. To hear her say it out loud sets my world spinning on its axis.
Until the cold crash of reality hits.
No matter how we feel about each other, we can never act on it.
And it fucking kills me.
Chapter Seven
REBEKKA
Morning light drifts through the cracks beside the curtains, and it takes me a minute to remember where the hell I am. Soft, tangled sheets wrap around my body. I glance down to see Rian’s t-shirt clinging to my skin. I lift the neckline to my nose and inhale deeply. It smells like him—woodsy, clean, expensive—and I have the insane urge to never take it off. To fold it into my bag and pretend it’s mine.
Last night replays in fragments. Drinks with the girls. Vomiting. Oh my. How fucking mortifying. His kindness. My confession. Oh shit. I drag my fingers through my sleep tousled hair.
I suppose it’s not like I told him anything he didn’t already know.
And he did confess first.
‘If you weren’t married to my best friend, I’d show you exactly how disgusting you are not, right here, right now in this lift.’
A sharp bolt of lust strikes between my legs.
‘I like you. I’ve always liked you.’
After that, we shifted the conversation to safer territory.Work. Books. Music. We talked until the small hours, until my voice grew hoarse and my eyes were too heavy to keep open. He walked me to the guest room door like a gentleman. I wanted to drag him in with me. To let go of every rule, every shred of restraint. But two wrongs don’t make a right. I’d never use Rian for revenge sex. He deserves so much more than that.
I reach for my phone on the bedside locker. The meditation I put on last night is still playing quietly. I can’t sleep without noise. Maybe it’s because I’m used to the hustle and bustle of New York. Maybe it’s because my bed is as empty as my heart.
I squint at the screen and groan.
Five messages. All from Anthony.
Where the fuck are you?
The concierge said you never came home.
Patrick didn’t bring you back. Explain yourself.
Answer me, Rebekka.
NOW.
I don’t dignify him with a response. He doesn’t deserve it. Instead, I toss the phone aside and drag myself out of bed in search of coffee.
