Chapter Twenty-Five
The next morning, my feet found their way to the kitchen with the familiar rhythms of habit, and as I stood before the shiny espresso machine—the recent gift that always made me smile—I thought about Nate and all that had happened the night before.
Strangely, the old pulse of guilt wasn’t there, not the way I had expected.
There was just a residual warmth, a sense of defiance.
I had made it home ahead of Cam, already tucked beneath the sheets when he arrived, trailing a thick haze of perfume through the dark.
He’d hardly said anything, just looked a little surprised to find me up.
Usually, I’d be dead asleep on Thursday nights, but thanks to my earlier nap at Nate’s, I’d been wide awake. Not that Cam needed to know the reason.
So I’d perched on the bed, a book open and unread in my lap while my thoughts tumbled in a noisy, persistent loop: Would he be able to tell what I’d done?
Could he sense there was something different about me?
Was it even betrayal? I hadn’t broken a single rule; in fact, I’d done exactly as agreed.
Just because Cam thought I wouldn’t take him at his word didn’t make it forbidden.
He couldn’t expect me to watch him do as he liked, and then lock me up in glass.
If anything, I was still playing fair, still sticking to the lines he’d drawn, even when he hadn’t.
But Cam hadn’t said a word, hadn’t noticed a thing. He’d showered, climbed into bed, and given a quick kiss before switching off his light. Typical. He didn’t see me. Not really. He probably never would.
I’d lain awake for a long time after, reliving every detail of the evening—the heat, the shock, the way I came apart for Nate. It was all so sharp and vivid compared to the dull ache of life at home.
Now, I poured fresh milk into my morning espresso, watching as the dark and light spun together in perfect little ribbons.
I was pretty proud of how good I’d gotten at making specialty coffee.
I laughed quietly to myself, remembering how Nate teased me for needing sugar, how he took his coffee with too much cream but always so bitter, and how I could never quite match his taste for the darkness.
Just then, Cam came in, closing the front door behind him with a solid thud. He stopped in the kitchen, chest heaving from his run, shiny beads of sweat marking his temples. He reached for the mug I’d poured for him, black and plain.
“You’re in a good mood this morning,” he observed before taking a long drink.
I glanced up with a placid shrug. “It’s a beautiful morning.”
And it was. The early sunlight filled the room, bright and golden. I wondered if he could sense the afterglow that lingered beneath my skin—a secret he would never guess.
He watched me, a crooked smile tilting his mouth. “I’m glad you’re not sulking like usual,” he said lightly. “Maybe you’ve finally gotten used to our arrangement. Maybe we’re past all the tears and sad glances when you think I’m not looking?”
I stared back at him, caught totally off-guard.
Did he really think I could ever become one of those wives who quietly accepted being second, who smiled while her husband took his pleasure wherever he wished?
But I had agreed, hadn’t I? I’d signed up to look away, to swallow my pride, not to demand or threaten but to comply.
I was supposed to be okay with it. His version of honesty was giving me no illusions at all: he made sure I knew, so I could never claim surprise, never throw down an ultimatum.
It worked, didn’t it? He got what he wanted: his women, his freedom, and a wife waiting at home—for now. But he really believed my smile this morning meant I was content, that I was grateful for the scraps of affection he tossed my way.
I just shrugged. “Maybe.”
I was so angry at the way he expected me to simply yield, to accept this as my place. But in that moment, beneath my calm mask, I was thinking of Nate—a man who needed no one but me. A man who didn’t require me to share.
I took another sip from my latte, savoring the warmth, letting it drift through me. I wasn’t ready to leave Cam. I still couldn’t imagine life without him; he was my whole heart, and even though something was changing, I clung to the memory of us.
From the island, I watched him move, admired the cut of his jaw, the measured force of his confidence. The dark hair, the emerald eyes, his lips—the things that drew so many women to him. It made sense, really, why he was never lacking for attention.
Cam wasn’t a man who gave up what he wanted; he’d fight before he let anything go, and I wasn’t ready to challenge that. Not yet. Still, every hour spent with Nate made me think maybe I could be enough for someone. Maybe that man wasn’t Cam, after all.
“What are you thinking?” Cam broke into my thoughts, his gaze sharp. “You’re a million miles away.”
I just shrugged, stood up, and carried my cup to the sink. He followed, setting his own mug down before glancing at the new espresso machine.
“When did we get that?” he asked.
“This? Oh, um, it was a gift. You’ve only just noticed it?” I let out an awkward laugh.
“A gift?”
“For my birthday,” I clarified, trying to keep my tone easy. “It’s been here a while. It’s kind of hard to miss, isn’t it?”
He frowned, like he was replaying a mental list of who might have sent such a thing, but, mercifully, didn’t push it. He just turned and went upstairs to shower.
Relief left me sagging a little. I didn’t want to be dishonest, but I couldn’t justify why Nate would buy me something so extravagant either. It was better not to offer up explanations.
I finished getting ready, setting a basket of the chocolate chip muffins I’d baked on the table, then slipped into my shoes.
Sitting down, I felt a tiny flash of soreness—a physical reminder of last night—and I couldn’t help biting my lip at the memory.
There was something delicious about it, something private and freeing.
Cam came back down, immaculate in his tailored suit and crisp shirt.
“Gianelli’s next week?” he asked.
His question caught me off guard. I narrowed my eyes, confused.
“Our anniversary dinner,” he prompted, sounding mildly annoyed.
“Oh!” It dawned on me with a jolt; the date had totally slipped past me this year. Normally, I’d be planning weeks ahead, but lately, everything felt off balance. I checked my calendar, confirming what I thought.
“It’s on a Thursday this year,” I pointed out.
Cam’s expression hardened. “Olivia, do you actually think I’d spend our anniversary with someone else?” His tone was sharp, clipped. “No matter what I do—with work or with you—I never stop putting you first. Still, you don’t believe you’re my number one?”
The old ache twisted in my chest. Maybe I wanted to be the only one. I kept that to myself, not wanting a fight before work.
“I’m sorry, I just thought…” I let the words fade into the air.
He stepped in close, gathered me in his arms, pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead. “You always come first. Our anniversary is important. More than anything else. There’s nowhere I’d rather be than with you.” His voice was soft now, almost pleading.
“I know,” I murmured, fingers smoothing over the muscles in his chest. “I’m sorry.”
He smiled, a tender flash as he brushed a hand along my cheek. “It was nice seeing you smiling in the morning again. I hope this means you’re finally settling in. I know this hasn’t been easy.”
∞∞∞
Thursday evening, I twirled in front of the tall mirror, admiring the way the sleek black dress hugged every curve, my hair perfectly arranged, heels sky-high and dangerous.
If there was ever a night to go all out, it was tonight.
This week, Cam had been attentive in the way I barely remembered: spending a lazy weekend in bed, watching old movies, making love; lingering in the kitchen each morning with me over coffee; and, every night, actually coming home on time, sharing quiet dinners before tucking me in close.
I’d booked Gianelli’s for six. Cam’s favorite, and I liked it too—the candlelight, the wine that always left me giddy, the sense of occasion.
Nate knew I was taken tonight; he’d been disappointed, but he took it in stride. He was always so understanding, never pushing or pouting. If anything, he was waiting for me to see what was right in front of me, but after a week like this, with Cam, I couldn’t imagine leaving.
I navigated the living room as gracefully as the heels would allow, feeling the electric anticipation for the night. I perched on the couch to wait. Thirty minutes before the reservation, my phone pinged.
Sorry babe, something important has come up. I’ll meet you at the restaurant instead. I might be a few minutes late. So sorry about this.
I sighed, a tiny spike of irritation flaring. He was the one who insisted on six o’clock. But it was fine. We’d just take separate cars.
When I arrived at Gianelli’s, I was surprised to find the place bursting with people.
I’d forgotten how busy it got, and suddenly felt lucky to have even snagged a reservation.
The hostess led me straight to our table, which sat in the middle of the bustling room, exposed on all sides.
I wished I’d requested something quieter. Too late now.
I settled in. The waiter came quickly, and I ordered wine for both of us, telling him Cam would be along soon. He poured two glasses and vanished. The first sip was bracing, dry, cutting. I laughed to myself, remembering Nate’s distaste for cheap supermarket bottles—the kind I loved.
As I scrolled on my phone to pass the time, I nearly choked when I saw Rachel had changed her status to in a relationship. I shot off a comment, then texted her.
Excuse me madam, why didn’t you call me and give me the news right away????
She replied instantly.