Resisting Mr. Kane (London Mister #2)(84)
I stare at her, bewildered. Sitting on the bar stool I’m eye level with her. More than anything, I want to laugh in her face. The idea of taking her back was ludicrous.
But to be a family again? To have Daniel back in my life fulltime?
“Daniel and I can move back into the townhouse where we belong.” She’s going in for the kill now. “You designed that place for us. For us to be a family there.”
The thought of waking up to Daniel every day was priceless. Even if he was a little bastard in the mornings.
“Matias wants your name removed from the birth certificate.”
I freeze. Is she blackmailing me?
"We could do it. I love you, Tristan. I may not have shown it well enough, but I see now how much I miss you." Her lips curl into that beautiful smile I had always found irresistible.
As her eyes lock on mine, she pulls her sweater over her head. Underneath, she’s wearing nothing but a deep-red bra. I can see right through to her nipples. Damn. The colour suits her pale skin perfectly, and it lifts her full breasts in just the right way. I recognise it. I remember buying it for her and fucking her repeatedly the first night she wore that lingerie set. She had to remember it was my favourite. Was she wearing the rest of it beneath those jeans?
I feel my body responding without my permission. We both know she had always been able to bewitch me without even trying. And it wasn't like she wasn't still just as attractive as ever. It had always been part of her allure. Part of what made her the perfect wife. I'd revelled in being able to parade her on my arm. I would show her off at company gatherings and parties. Then later, when we were alone, we would discuss the way other women had glared at her, and other men had stared at her. It had turned us both on, knowing how much other people wanted her.
I was a fool.
I know exactly what she’s doing. Perhaps she does want to reconcile, but I know now when she’s manipulating me. She wants to make me unable to see past the promise of what would happen if I gave her what she wanted.
She steps forward. “I need you, Tristan,” she whispers, reaching up to slide a hand around the back of my neck and pull my face to hers.
Maybe it’s the alcohol but I feel my hands sliding around her waist without realising I had put them there. She grips my hair, and I don’t stop her when she steps between my legs to press her body up to mine. My hands slide up her body, feeling the firm, soft skin. The feel of her, the smell of her, brought memories flooding back. Holidays spent never leaving the hotel suite. Times she had visited me working late in the office to slip under my desk to distract me. Getting home from the office to find her in a new lingerie set, begging for me to take her. How good she had made me feel over and over again.
She looks at me innocent and sweet, like she has the power to wipe out history. “We can be together,” she whispers, grinding herself against me. “You can have me whenever and wherever you want.”
I stare down at the woman I had loved for over a decade, my brain misfiring.
I want her to make everything right again.
28
Elly
Heartbreak is not good for someone with bowel disease. You know that cliché of the gnawing feeling in your guts? Well, it applies literally to me. Even though I’ve no appetite, I’m sprinting to the bathroom every thirty minutes, you know, just in case. I can’t figure out if the dull unease in my stomach is inflammation or just layers of unsettling emotion. It means that the toilet roll stash in my bedroom is diminishing faster than a supermarket in a pandemic. That’s what getting dumped does to an IBD sufferer.
Apparently, the writer of Alien had Crohn’s disease and based his infamous scene of the alien bursting out of his stomach on how he felt during a flare-up. I don’t know if that’s true but I couldn’t have described it better myself.
All week, Sophie and Amy have been asking me if I’m okay. I don’t know what I am. I'm just going through the motions of my job like a tinman. I’ve been walking around the office robotic, pale-faced, zombie-like. Doing everything with detached numbness. Hiding at my desk until it’s time to leave for fear I’ll bump into Tristan although I never do because he would need to go out of his way to make that happen in an office this big. Mild polite conversation, barely passing as banter is all I can manage. Even going to the canteen is soul-destroying because every damn menu option reminds me of him and his particular tastes.
Is this what grief feels like? I’ve never had someone close to me die before. The sorrow in my heart keeps me from sleeping, eating, talking, laughing, anything really. It’s just a constant wave of sadness washing over me, and I’m scared it will never cease.
What can I tell Sophie and Amy? I can’t tell them the truth. “Yes, I’m fine, I was sleeping with the CEO, but then I drugged his kid, so he dumped me and now I’m suffocating with sorrow and think I have broken heart syndrome as well as irritable bowel disease.”
It’s times like this when IBD comes in handy. You mention you feel poorly because of an irritable bowel, and it will kill all conversations. I had to tell them I had a bad cold as well to explain the sniffling symptoms. My eyes are constantly misting over, and my voice sounds tired and hoarse because I’m crying so much at night.
Only Megan knows the truth.
Right now, I feel like I won’t recover, which I know is ridiculous because couples break up all the time, many after decades together. Tristan and I had just started out as a couple. But regardless, it’s hit me hard. And it’s only been seven days.