Lily #2
“I have neglected my wife,” I confessed. “That’s not a mistake. My actions prove that I failed as a husband and a father.”
She reached for my glass, her fingertips brushing mine. I pulled my hand back sharply, resting the glass on my lap. “Leave it.”
Emma’s hand slowly retreated.
Placing her hands on the edge, she leaned slightly forward. “Like I said, you made a mistake, but it doesn’t mean you can’t fix it,” she whispered, her words slithering into the haze of my drunken mind.
“Why are you really here, Emma?” I asked, the words slightly slurred as I fought to pull my thoughts into focus.
“Because you looked like you needed a friend.”
“And you thought that friend should be you?”
She nodded slowly, her gaze never leaving mine.
“Why?” I pressed.
“Because I know what it feels like to lose everything,” she said. “I saw pieces of who I used to be in you before my marriage fell apart. I didn’t want you to be alone.”
“You shouldn’t be here, Emma.” The words were a warning to her, but more so to myself.
A rush of adrenaline coursed through my veins, sharpening my senses, every detail heightened: her sultry voice, the way she smiled at me, the intoxicating scent of her floral perfume. The smell was nothing like my Lily. My Sunshine.
She leaned in, her warm breath brushing against my ear. I could feel the soft curve of her hip grazing against my arm. “I know, but I want to be.”
Heat rushed to my face, and my palms grew clammy. I didn’t move or pull away from her touch. I sat there like a fucking idiot, a willing participant in this game.
Was there something in this drink? Why the hell else would I be grappling with the guilt for wanting to enjoy this moment with Emma? A woman who was not my wife. But Emma didn’t look at me with disappointment. She understood me. I hadn’t failed Emma. But Lily was my wife. Not Emma.
Before my already muddled brain could process what the hell was happening, she plucked the heavy crystal glass from my hand and set it on the table.
“Emma,” I tried, the name a clumsy, foreign sound on my tongue.
“This isn’t right,” she whispered, almost as if she’s trying to convince herself.
“What isn’t right?”
“Having feelings for a man who is taken. This is so wrong on so many levels.”
“Yes, it is,” I agreed. My mind was too foggy, too clouded by the bourbon and self-pity to grasp the gravity of this situation. All I kept seeing was Lily’s face, etched with sadness, and the crushing weight of how much I had failed her.
The air between us thickened, heavy with a dangerous cocktail of want, desire, and the bitter taste of regret.
My hand rose to cup the back of her neck, my fingers tangling in the silken strands of her hair.
I squeezed in a desperate need for connection, for grounding, for something to hold onto. My forehead rested against hers.
“Ethan, we shouldn’t,” she says, her voice barely audible, yet her hands found my shoulders, her fingers digging in, a mirror of my own desperate grip.
As if she, too, was trying to hold back a rising tide.
But maybe this moment with her could get rid of this self-loathing, this corrosive acid wreaking havoc inside me.
“I know,” I rasped.
Her breath hitched. “Ethan—”
I crashed my mouth against hers, stopping her words. She gasped, my tongue making its way into her mouth. It was messy and desperate, and the kiss tasted like regret and loneliness. I could barely stifle the moan that slipped out.
Her fingers skimmed down my neck and onto my chest until they closed around the thick, pulsing length of my cock, already embarrassingly aroused beneath my trousers.
What the fuck was I doing?
I sprang from the chair so forcefully that it shot back and crashed into the wall with a loud, jarring thud.
We had crossed a line. A line I allowed to be crossed. It made my blood boil with anger and disgust with myself.
Desperate to put distance between us, I quickly circled around the desk, my body tense. With my back to her, I took a moment to collect myself, struggling to regain my composure and control my physical reaction to her touch.
“I’m sorry,” I said, running a hand over my face. “I shouldn’t have done that. This was a mistake.” Each word landed with a painful clarity that cut straight through my heart.
“Oh, God…I’m so sorry, Ethan,” she sputtered.
“My behavior was inappropriate, and I am so fucking sorry for putting you in that position, Emma,” I muttered.
I ran my hands through my hair and paced the room. I craved my wife, not another woman’s lips or hands on my body. I wanted my Lily. My Sunshine.
“I didn’t stop it because a part of me wanted it to happen, Ethan. You aren’t the only one to blame.”
I stopped pacing and turned to face her fully, my expression hardening into a deep scowl.
“What I did was wrong and unethical.”I shook my head, unable to disguise my disgust at her and at myself.
“Let me make it absolutely clear, so there is no misunderstanding between us. You and I are never going to happen. That is not who I am and never will be. Do you understand?”
She nodded. “Of course.”
“Now, please leave,” I said through gritted teeth, bile rising in my throat as the full weight of what I had done crashed over me.
Without another word, she turned and practically ran out of my office.
I stood in place for a long moment, chest heaving, adrenaline still coursing through me.
I felt sick to my stomach, guilt gnawing at me.
I betrayed my wife, even if only in some small, unintended way.
I had lost myself in the moment, surrendering to the loneliness that came from missing the connection I once had with Lily.
Still, that was not an excuse for what happened, to justify why I allowed myself to cross that boundary.
The Uber pulled away from the curb as I shoved my key into the lock and stepped inside. The house was dark and still, the lingering sweetness of freshly baked cookies hanging in the air. I dropped my keys onto the entry table, kicked off my shoes, and climbed the stairs.
Entering the bedroom, my gaze immediately snapped to Lily. She was curled close to the edge of the bed.
My chest tightened. I yanked at my tie as if it were strangling me and ripped it off, flinging it onto the bench in the closet. I stepped to my dresser, opened a drawer, grabbed a pair of briefs, and walked into the bathroom.
I let the shower’s scalding water beat down on me, my palms pressed flat against the cold tiles, trying to wash away the resentment, the guilt, the sheer exhaustion of it all. Once I was done, skin raw and steaming, I dried myself, pulled on the briefs, and killed the light.
The bedroom light flickered on with a sudden, blinding snap.
I froze, blinking against the harsh glare. Lily stood in the doorway, my phone clutched in one hand like a grenade, my dress shirt dangling from the other. Her eyes, usually soft, were sharp and accusing.
“Why is Emma texting you at this time?” Her voice was flat, devoid of emotion, which was far more terrifying than if she had shouted.
I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out.
She scanned my face, her eyes narrowing, dissecting every twitch, every flicker. The doubt on her face was a physical blow.
“I’ll ask again. Why is your assistant texting you at midnight? Better yet, why are you just getting home?”
“I was working late.” That part was the truth. “And I have no idea why she’s texting me.” That part was a lie.
“Does it have to do with this?” she snarled. “This goddamn lipstick stain on your collar?” She hurled the shirt at me.
I caught it, my eyes locking on the red smear. My stomach dropped. I looked up, ready to stammer out some explanation, but her face was a mask of furious certainty.
“Are you cheating on me?” The question was laced with a raw, agonizing hurt that cut through my own anger at myself.
“What? God, no! I would never do that to you, Lily! To us.”
“Oh, really?” Her laugh was harsh and bitter. “Because the evidence says otherwise.” She threw the phone at me with a vicious underhand toss. I snatched it out of the air. Before I could even open my mouth, she spun on her heel and stormed out of the bedroom, slamming the door.
My eyes blazed, fixed on the screen.
Emma: I’m so sorry about what happened tonight. It will never happen again. Please accept this as my formal resignation.
I didn’t bother texting back. I didn’t bother doing anything but clench my jaw, my knuckles white around the phone, and stalk out of the room after my wife to salvage the mess I created.
Lily
That lying, cheating bastard! How could he?!
My fingers clawed through my hair, tangling in the strands, filled with a desperate urge to rip it all out by the roots and shove it down his…
The sharp click of the door latch interrupted my thoughts.
I looked up to see Ethan standing in the doorway of the guest bedroom.
“Will you please let me explain?” he begged, the door softly clicking shut behind him.
“I’m not the one receiving late-night text messages from my goddamn assistant and lipstick smeared on my shirt!” I spat, my hands slamming onto my hips.
My stomach churned, a bile-like acid rising in my throat as the memory of the message flashed through my mind.
I hadn’t meant to snoop, not really. But Ethan had been a ghost lately.
It made no sense. We weren’t having sex, and we didn’t even have the comforts of a hug or a proper goodbye kiss anymore.
We were roommates, strangers sharing a bed, and the gaping chasm of his indifference was heartbreaking.
Was she warming his bed? And what the hell was she sorry about? What happened between them tonight?
He stared at me, his face a mask of disbelief. “Lily, I swear, I am not cheating on you. Nothing is going on between me and her, or anyone else, for that matter.”
“Stop lying to me!” I shrieked.
“I’m not lying!” He threw his hands up, his voice rising to match mine.