Thief (Love Me With Lies #3)(44)

“Quand vous dites que vous les aimez, et vous savez vraiment tout ce qui sert à la matière n’ont pas d’importance pas plus.”

She sighs. “Everything sounds better in French — maybe even your singing.”

I laugh and play with her fingers.

The meal is unparalleled in the state of Florida. She reluctantly agrees that the New York Strip is better than the filet. After our meal is over, we receive a tour of the kitchen and wine cellar — which is custom at Bern’s.

Our tour guide stops in front of a locked cage, behind which resembles a library of wine bottles. Olivia’s eyes grow wide when our guide shows us a bottle of port that is two hundred dollars an ounce.

“It’s a delight in your mouth,” he says, comically.

I raise my eyebrows. I am standing behind her, so I wrap my arms around her waist and speak into her hair. “Do you want to try some, Duchess? A delight in your mouth… “

She shakes her head no, but I nod at our guide. “Send it to the Dessert Room,” I say.

She stares at me in confusion. “The what?”

“Our Bern’s experience isn’t over. There is a separate part of the restaurant just for dessert.”

We are taken up a flight of stairs to another dimly lit area of the restaurant. It is mazelike in the Dessert Room; I’m not sure how we’ll find our way out without help. We are taken past a dozen private glass orbs, behind which each individual table sits. Each guest is given their own privacy bubble to eat their dessert. Our table is to the rear of the restaurant and fit for two. It is a strange and romantic setting. Olivia has had two glasses of wine and is relaxed and smiling. When we are left alone, she turns to me and says something that makes me choke on my water.

“Do you think we could have sex in here?”

I return my glass to the table and blink slowly. “You’re drunk, aren’t you?”

“I haven’t had wine in a long time,” she admits. “I feel a little carefree.”

“Public sex carefree?”

“I want you.”

I am a grown man, but my heart skips a beat.

“No,” I say firmly. “This is my favorite restaurant. I’m not getting kicked out because you can’t wait an hour.”

“I can’t wait an hour,” she breathes, “please.”

I grind my teeth.

“You only do that when you’re angry,” she says, pointing to my jaw. “Are you angry?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I really want the macadamia nut sundae.”

She leans forward and her breasts press against the table. “More than you want me?”

I stand up and grab her hand, pulling her to her feet. “Can you make it to the car?”

She nods. As we are rounding the corner, our server returns with our two hundred and fifty dollar an ounce port. I take it from him and pass it to her. She shoots it. The server flinches and I bark out a laugh, handing him my credit card.

“Hurry up,” I say. He races off and I press her against the wall to kiss her. “Was it a delight in your mouth?”

“It was okay,” she says. “I really want to put something else in my mouth…”

“God.”

I kiss her so I can taste it. When I turn around, he is back with my card. I quickly sign the receipt and drag her out of the restaurant.

After an intensely memorable fifteen minutes in a pharmacy parking lot in the backseat, we drive to an ice cream shop and eat our cones in the heat, outside.

“Doesn’t hold a candle to Jaxson’s,” she says, licking her wrist where the ice cream is dripping.

I grin as I watch the traffic on the street.

“Do you think we’ll ever get sick of doing that?”

We switch cones, and I eye her through my haze. She ordered the ice cream shop’s version of Cherry Garcia. I ordered something with peanut butter. I watch her eat it. She has that sexed look — flushed skin, ruffled hair. I’m tired, but I could easily go another round.

“I highly doubt that, Duchess.”

“Why?”

“Addiction,” I say simply. “It can span an entire lifetime if untreated.”

“What’s the treatment?”

“I don’t really care.”

“Me neither,” she says, throwing the rest of my cone in the trash and dusting her hands on her dress.

“Let’s go. Our hotel room has a hot tub.”

I don’t need to be asked twice.





Four months after Leah was acquitted, I filed for divorce. The minute — the very minute I made the decision, I felt a huge weight lifted from my figurative shoulders. I didn’t necessarily believe in divorce, but you couldn’t stay in something that was killing you either. Sometimes you f*cked up enough in life, that you had to bow to your mistakes. They won. Be humble … move on. Leah thought she was happy with me, but how could I make someone happy when I was so dead inside? She didn’t even know the real me. It was like sleepwalking; being married to someone you didn’t love. You tried to fill yourself with positives — buying houses and going on vacations and cooking classes — anything to try to bond with this person you should already have bonded with before you said I do. It was all empty, fighting for something that never was. Be it my fault for marrying her in the first place, I’d made plenty of mistakes. It was time to move on. I filed the papers.