Page 16 of His Wife

I’ve walked into his bedroom so many times before, but tonight stepping into his room feels different. It feels…permanent. Like there’s been a shift in the air. A good shift. But the pressure’s mounted, too, as if a commitment has been made—especially now that he’s let me into his space, sharing our privacy with one another. But what does this mean for us? For me? There are so many alarm bells ringing around my heart, cautioning me not to read too much into this. What will a lifetime’s worth of money and security mean to me if I walk out of here with a broken heart?

“I instructed your staff to move your things.”

“I can see that.” I turn to face Alexius leaning against the doorframe, the bow of his tuxedo and top button undone.

“You can rearrange your things as you like. There’s more than enough space.”

“Are you sure?” I twirl my thumbs in front of me.

“Yes, I’m sure there’s enough space for you.”

“No. I mean…are you sure about this? About me moving in here?”

Alexius starts toward me, moving with the grace of a lion—powerful and predatory. His eyes are full of purpose, his jaw set in a determined line, and my heart races when he stands in front of me, so close I can feel the vibration of his presence ripple through me.

“Last night when I came home, sneaking into your bedroom and waking you with my hand between your legs,” he steps up to me, looking down, eyes dark and smoldering, “I realized that I don’t want to fucking sneak around. I need you in my bed every goddamn night so I can fuck you whenever I want, however I want. And I want you to wake up every morning next to me so I can hear every little moan you make because you’re sore, your body aching from the way I fucked you.” Another step and our bodies touch, my husband stealing all the air around me. “I want to see the fatigue on your beautiful face, knowing I drained you of every last drop of energy by making you come over, and over, and over again.”

My thighs clench, heat spreading across my skin and up my neck. The heat of a flush trickles along the back of my neck, and my lips part at the feel of his fingertips on my collarbone.

“I want to smell you on my sheets every day, have your scent linger in this room whenever I walk in, and have your torn panties on my motherfucking couch.”

The words burn my tongue, and I already know how stupid I am for saying it out loud. But I do it anyway. “Is that the only reason you want me here? Sex?”

The half-grin on his face is sexy as hell, his thick lips enticing me for a taste. His fingers travel up the side of my neck, his thumb resting on my chin. “No. That’s not the only reason.”

“What is—”

“Alexius!” Mira’s voice tears through the night, a painful shriek echoing from outside the door, instantly sending ice down my spine.

“Jesus.” Alexius darts to the door and yanks it open only to be met by Mira’s tearstained face.

“It’s your dad.”

He turns to me, and I see it. The grief is already slithering in because he knows. It’s time.

“Go,” I urge. “I’m right behind you.”

Alexius and Mira disappear from the doorway, and I’m frozen. I can’t move. I’m scared. Scared for him, for his mother, his brothers, for everyone.

Death isn’t ugly. It’s brutal. There are no walls strong enough to fight its vicious claws from tearing you apart.

Flashes of my mother’s lifeless body on the filthy couch, the needle on the carpet by her feet—I can still see it like it happened yesterday. I can still feel it. The pain of losing a parent. The relief of being freed from a tormentor. And the guilt for being unable to cry or mourn.

Alexius will mourn. He will grieve. And I need to be there for him.

Rushing out of the room and down the hall, I find Isaia sitting on the floor around the corner from his parents’ bedroom, roughing his hand across his cropped hair.

“Isaia.” I still in front of him, my heart already splintering. “You should be in there.”

“No.” He presses his lips together, leaning his head back against the wall. “I can’t.”

I crouch in front of him. “You have to say goodbye. You’ll regret it for the rest of your life if you don’t.”

He scoffs. “You don’t get it.” His dark brown eyes meet mine. “I’ve said goodbye every night for the last year because I never knew if it would be the last time I see him. I’ve said goodbye hundreds of times. I don’t need to do it again.” He sniffs, and his jaw tics, biting back tears. “Tonight, after my parents renewed their vows, I hugged him, and he told me he loved me. And for the first time in so long, I said it back. I told him I loved him, too, and it was this powerful fucking moment, you know?” He wipes his nose with the back of his hand, before inhaling deeply, eyes shimmering with unshed tears as he looks at me. “I want that to be the last memory I have of him. I don’t want to go in there and have the image of my father taking his last breath steal that moment from me.”

I brush my tears away with my thumb and lean on his knees, reaching out to cup his cheek. “I get that,” I murmur, and Isaia leans deeper into my touch, placing his palm over mine and closing his eyes as a single tear escapes. “You do whatever you need to, to hold on to that memory, you understand? Don’t ever let it slip away.”

A torturous whimper floods from his lips, and he clutches my hand, pressing a kiss in the center of my palm, letting it linger for a desperate moment, and I swear I can feel his pain travel through my veins.

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