Chapter 27
27
Cat
T he lingerie must trip something in my overactive brain, because that night, I wake from a deep sleep at two a.m. with a parched mouth and gritty eyes. I’m unsettled, like I had a bad dream I can’t remember. I need a glass of water, and then I’ll go back to sleep. I slip into the hall, where moonlight streams in from the high windows at either end. I hate walking around this house at night, especially past the open doors to unused guest rooms, each yawning like the maw of some awful beast. I pad down the runner, thick pile squishing under my toes.
And then I hear it.
A low groan comes from Theo’s room. I freeze. Keep walking, Cat. I don’t want to know what he’s doing in there. I don’t even want to imagine it. But I am imagining it. He left after the embarrassing lingerie show, and I didn’t hear him come in earlier, which means it was late. His door isn’t fully closed, I guess because he’s used to living alone. The sheets rustle. He hisses a breath.
“Fuck, yeah, like that.”
Oh my god. He has a woman in there. He has a woman on the other side of the wall we share. Why am I so damnably upset by that? This is fake. My nails make little half moons in my palms. So what if he does? Fake, Cat. It’s fake. Move the fuck on.
I’m just off kilter from the way he looked at me earlier.
When I look at you, I feel like I can’t breathe.
What the hell is that supposed to mean, anyway?
I need to keep walking, because if I hear him pleasuring whoever is in there, I’ll go insane. But instead of walking, I stay rooted to the spot. I imagine that girl from the summer Theo and I stopped speaking. She’s an influencer now. In my mind, her hands are on his chest and her head is thrown back. Anger spirals inside me, tighter and tighter, until I think I’m going to burst. Theo’s voice is low, his soft grunts and the sound of skin moving against skin coming clear through the cracked door.
I hate him. I hate him so much. And I hate that part of me wants to be that woman in there with him.
“Oh, baby, I’m so close,” he says in a hoarse rumble, and honestly, fuck this.
I slam both hands against the door. “You irredeemable prick,” I say right as Theo says, “Cat,” and jerks his hand away from his cock. In my split second of shock, I see him like a series of photo snapshots— there , his magnificent form spread on the bed. There , his rigid erection against his equally firm stomach . There , the tattoo swirling over his bare chest . There , the naked desire written across his face. Before I can react, his face twists and his mouth parts and he grits, “Turn around.”
I whirl, but not before I see his body jerk as he comes. The sound of his groan echoes in the quiet room.
I don’t speak. I don’t know if I can. I shouldn’t have seen that, and yet I can’t stop thinking about it. Theo, naked, and lit only by moonlight is an image I’ll savor for the rest of my life. I imagine I’ll recall it on particularly lonely nights, long after this marriage is over, and I’ve just seen Theo in yet another news article. His body is living, breathing art, all long lines and corded strength. He seems made for a woman to touch, and I so badly want to. I curl my fingers in my palms while I wait for him to say something.
If he teases me, I’m going to lose it. I’ll run, or I’ll join him on the bed, and I’m not sure which.
“Catherine.” He clears his throat. “What are you doing in here?”
Thank fuck. He’s just as unsettled as I am.
“I thought you were in here with a woman.”
“So you banged down the door?” I can hear the smile in his voice.
“It seemed the most efficient way to interrupt.”
“Did it?” he drawls. “And what did you plan to do once you got in here?”
I swallow.
He snorts softly. “More importantly, do you really think I would do that?”
“I heard you leave earlier. I thought that you might have brought someone home.”
“I’ll try not to be hurt by that,” he says silkily. “I left to work out because the sight of you in that lingerie made me want to fuck you into the carpet.”
“What did you say?” That can’t be true. Theo doesn’t want me. He’s never wanted me.
When I look at you, I feel like I can’t breathe.
“You heard me,” he says. “I have to assume you were so upset at the idea of me being with someone else that you weren’t thinking rationally at all. Or you came to have a taste. Which is it?”
I guess I deserve that. “Pass.”
“You can’t pass.”
“I’ll give you another dare.”
He snorts. “You’re not going to be happy when I come to collect. I’m going to make you do something wicked, Catherine. Maybe I’ll make you stand here next time I’m solo. With your back turned. So you can’t see anything, and all you can do is…imagine.” He breathes the last word, and I flee the room.
His laugh follows me all the way down the hall.
“Cat,” I hear. “Wake up, sleeping beauty.”
“Go away.” I put a pillow over my head and squeeze my eyes shut.
“Cat.” Theo laughs. “You’re worse than I am.”
“Divorce me,” I grumble. “It would be better than this.”
“We’re doing your bucket list.”
I shove the pillow off and sit up. Theo’s holding two tumblers of coffee and wearing a grin that says he knows I want to stab him, and he prefers it that way.
He holds one up. “Still want to divorce me? It’s hazelnut.”
I hold my hands out, and he passes me the tumbler. He’s in black sweats, with his hair ruffled and his eyes sleepy. How he’d look if we woke up together.
Oh, baby, I’m so close.
I sip the coffee and avoid looking at him.
“How’d you sleep?” He’s smirking at me, like he knows where my thoughts are.
“Great,” I snap. Terribly. I went back to sleep at three a.m. with an ache between my legs and the knowledge that Theo was on the other side of the wall.
“No bad dreams?” He smiles, lazy and satisfied. “Or good dreams, as it were?”
I scoot off the bed and stand. Theo chokes a breath. That’ll teach him. I’m wearing a silk sleep shirt I bought yesterday, and it barely covers my ass. If I’m going to be unsettled, then he will be too.
“Much as I hate to tell you to cover up, we’re going on the roof,” he drawls. Not unsettled enough, I guess.
I pull a sweater and jeans out of my drawer and yank the shirt over my head. Theo’s sharp inhale is loud in the silent room.
“Little warning?”
“What can I say?” I turn to him as I pull the sweater over my bare skin. His eyes are on my stomach and my lace thong, flicking over me like he wants to memorize every detail. “I’m not feeling charitable about being woken up early. ”
“Not a morning person?” His mouth hitches up.
“You know I’m not.” As a teenager, I slept late. I never sleep well, and the morning hours are my best sleep. The hours after dawn feel safer, like my body can finally relax.
“I thought maybe you grew out of it.”
“I didn’t,” I say shortly, grabbing my tumbler and gesturing for him to precede me. “Onward into the depths of hell.”
Theo snorts a laugh. “It’s dawn, not torture.”
“They executed prisoners at dawn,” I say as I follow him down the hall to the stairs.
He tosses me a smile. “You say the sweetest things, wife.”
The clock in the eerily silent gym reads 6:23 a.m. Theo swipes blankets from the basket by the door and leads me onto the deck, where the pool is silent and covered, a far cry from the other night. The plantings shush gently in the predawn air. The sky is light, half night, half day. Theo leads me to the loungers on the east side of the building, where there’s a small table and a white box.
“What’s that?”
“Pastries,” he says, looking a little sheepish. “From my favorite bakery.” He gives me an embarrassed smile, like he was caught doing something naughty.
“I like pastries,” I say softly. My throat is tight.
Why would he do this? Why would he make the list special and fun for me?
All the cars. Pick one.
You do the list with me, or you divorce me.
He got up early to get pastries.
My foolish heart knows the answer immediately. This is Theo. This is what he does. He lives his life in the spotlight and he pulls others along with him. This is exactly what he did when we were kids.
“You pick first,” he says, holding out the box.
I pick an apricot pastry, delicately glazed and studded with pistachios. I take a bite and nearly moan at the taste .
“Good, right?” Theo settles on the lounge chair, propping an arm behind his head.
“Now I can’t be mean to you,” I say, and he grins.
“Don’t change on my account. I like your sharp tongue.” He leers at me, looking like a movie villain.
“Is that what gets you off?” The words pop out, and Theo and I both still.
“Fuck,” he says, his voice gravel.
The roughness of his tone plucks at my insides. Is that how he would sound with my mouth on him?
“It’s too early for that.” He runs a hand over his face.
“It’s on the list,” I say faintly.
His gaze sharpens. “What is?”
Learn to give a really good blowjob. Theo could teach me what he likes, and the hard thump of my heart tells me I’d really like to learn.
“Blowjobs. I’m auditioning men who only last two minutes, actually. You’re perfect.”
“With that mouth of yours?” His tongue swipes over his bottom lip. “Give me ninety seconds.” He looks away. “Forget I said that. In fact, let’s eat in silence.” His voice is pained. I look down at his thin lounge pants. The fabric is tented where he’s hard.
That’s what you do. If you’re big. I swallow.
“The list did raise some questions for me,” he says after a minute. “Did you not have underwear before?”
“Of course I did.” My cheeks redden, and I look at the horizon, where the sky is growing lighter. “But I’ve never had lingerie.”
“No boyfriend ever bought it for you?” Theo’s voice is careful.
“I didn’t have many boyfriends.” I don’t meet his eyes. Theo’s had nothing but flings and short-term girlfriends from age twenty until two months ago.
“Proof once again that men are idiots,” he says lightly.
“I wouldn’t have wanted it anyway,” I say. “The point was to get it for myself.” I pause, uncertain I want to share this with him. “My parents picked most of my clothes.” My eyes lift to his, waiting for judgment .
Instead, he’s still and watchful. “As a child?”
“Not just as a child.”
“Why?”
“My parents’ house was about control. Having it over me and what I represented.”
“The shares,” he murmurs, his mouth twisting. His green eyes are knowing and sad, shadowed in the pre-dawn light.
“The shares,” I confirm. “The most important thing in the world to my father. I started making my own clothes.” I refuse to be a sad, wilting flower about this, just like I refused at nineteen. I’ve always fought fire with fire, even if half the clothes I made were buried in the back of my closet and never worn.
“You made your own clothes?”
“Yep. Remember that bookstore you never wanted to go to on the edge of town? Books and Brew?”
He makes a face. “Books.”
“Don’t pretend, Theo,” I say tartly. “I know you can read. Anyway, I got a job there. I bought a sewing machine and some knitting needles, and I taught myself to knit and sew. My parents couldn’t really say anything, since it was an indoor hobby. I made beautiful things.”
Theo is looking at me with an unreadable expression, like he wants to figure me out. The scrutiny is too much.
“So yeah, that hasn’t been helpful for my MBA,” I say lightly. “Anyway, what about you?”
“What about me?” He lifts a brow.
“While I was making clothes, what were you doing?”
“Crafting the world’s third-longest beer bong,” he says immediately.
I give him a look. “Be serious.”
“I’m never serious.”
That’s not true. The boy I knew as a teenager loved deeply, felt keenly. Yes, he laughed, but he was serious too. When did Theo polish away those parts of himself ?
“Give me one thing,” I say. “I’ve shared with you.” I raise a brow. “What did you do after college?”
“I drifted,” he says, looking unhappy at the memory. “I stuck around the summer after school, bartending in a shitty college bar. I slept with girls. I got in fights.” He bites into a chocolate croissant, chews, swallows. “And then I moved to New York.”
“Why?”
“I had a notion I’d make it here,” he says.
“I’d say that worked out.”
“Sure.” He shrugs, like he doesn’t think much of his accomplishments. “I always wanted a legacy.” He sounds wistful. “Something bigger than myself. A mark to leave on the world.”
“Kings Lane isn’t enough?”
“It’s not mine,” he says, eyes cutting to me. “I didn’t start it, and I love Jonah and Miles, but I want more. I don’t want my legacy to just be wealth.” He sighs. “The sun is rising. You’re going to miss it.”
I forgot about the sunrise while I was staring at him. I turn to watch the oranges and pinks of sunrise give way to the harsher light of morning, and as we admire it in silence, I start to think maybe I don’t know Theo very well at all.