Page 43 of So Close

“Was his explanation correct?” you ask.

I don’t ask which part because it was all accurate and because now, I’m overwhelmed by curiosity. And hope. Where are we going? How long isa while? “Yes.”

“Would you be willing to see someone else?” Your deep, measured tone of voice calms me. You’ve mesmerized me with that tenor before. “I’m going to need you to try.”

“Why? Are we going to try and save our marriage? Or are you hoping a little psychoanalysis will trigger me into forgetting about you and disappearing again? After all, you haven’t shown any sign that you want me around.”

The silence that descends is blistering.

“You’ve lostyears,” you hiss in my ear. “Don’t you want to know what happened during them?”

The elevator stops smoothly and opens on the ground floor. You take my hand, and we walk toward the front entrance. You moderate your stride so that we stroll through the lobby in tandem. Heads turn, and gazes follow. How could they not? You’re so tall and devastatingly handsome, and my heels raise me to just over six feet in height.

You exude confidence and the warmth of the fire that fuels you. In so many ways and for so many reasons, it is a tormenting joy to walk beside you.

You draw me aside when we exit the hospital into an outdoor alcove out of the way of foot traffic flowing through the automatic sliding doors.

“I asked you a question,Setareh. Give me an answer.”

“What does it matter what I remember? There doesn’t seem to be much to save in our marriage. What do you want from me beyond modeling your jewelry collection?”

That sculpted jaw of yours tightens.

Discouraged and bitter, I go on. “You don’t want my company. You don’t want to fuck me. You don’t even want to share a bedroom with me. Are you planning on fucking other women? How have you managed that, by the way, with that giant photo of me watching? Or is that the point? Do you like me to watch? Doesn’t that creep them out? I guess not. You’re so gorgeous, sexy andrichthey’d probably let you nail them in Times Square.”

There is a moment of furious silence, then, “Are you done?”

“Do I get the same sexual freedom?”

Now the fire rises into your eyes. Still, you rein it in and hold your tongue.

The fact that I can’t even get you angry about me sleeping with other men tells me all I need to know. Except for one thing … “Why don’t you just ask for a divorce?You can have the fucking money, Baharan, everything. All I want is peace.”

I move to step around you, then gasp in surprised pain as you yank me back into position between you and the alcove wall as if I’m a recalcitrant child in need of discipline. Then you pull me into a tight hug. Your big, powerful body radiates ferocity and violence. And I realize with stunned delight that you have an unmistakable – and impressive – erection.

Your lips, so firm and sensual, are a breath away from my forehead as you speak in a low, vehement whisper. “Is that reallyallyou want?”

Hot, sexual demand emanates from you. So, too, does edgy, anxious energy.

It hits me that my answer matters to you deeply, that waiting for it has you strung tight. As if I might possibly not desire you more than my next breath.

“I don’t know what peace is, Kane, to even have a hope of wanting it.You’re all I need. You always have been.”

“Setareh.” You crush me close and press your lips to my forehead. It’s such a simple gesture, yet I feel relief drain the tension from your body. “That’s what I’ve needed – for you to tell me you still want me.”

“You’ve seemed so angry with me.”

Pulling back, you bare your teeth before you bite off your answer. “You made a decision that took you from me forsix years! You’re damn right I’m mad at you.”

The chill in my blood finally warms. I’ll bear the marks of your fingers for days, but I don’t care. I relax in your grip, and in return, your grip relaxes.

Your voice softens, too. “I slept like shit, just like every other night I’ve spent without you. If you want a baby, we’ll get pregnant. If you don’t want to go to therapy, we won’t. We have separate bedrooms because I couldn’t let your things go, but I couldn’t function seeing them, smelling them, touching them every day.”

Cupping my face in your hands, you rest your forehead against mine. “We vowed to forsake all others, and we will.Youwill.Iabsolutely fucking will. There’s never been another woman in my bedroom. And divorce is not now, nor will it ever be, an option. Did I miss anything?”

Your thumb is now stroking my arm, back and forth, soothing and stimulating. It’s an involuntary caress, an instinctual movement.

“What if it’s better not to know what I was doing the past six years?” I ask. “What if I did terrible things?”

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