Epilogue
One month later, Grant still does not know which day Ava has dance.
He has learned, however, that Miles refuses to eat eggs unless the yolk is completely gone, that school pickup requires identification, and that children do not pack themselves for overnight visits.
He calls these complications.
I call them Tuesday.
The divorce is moving.
Slowly.
Lawyers enjoy stretching pain into billable hours.
The company investigation is moving faster.
Grant is no longer allowed to approve expenses without a second signature. Trevor and Marcus have stopped inviting him to meetings unless Daniel attends. The Brighton deal survives.
Grant’s title might survive too.
His authority will not.
Brooke sends me three messages.
I delete all three without opening them.
Sienna walks away from everything and everyone.
Her final email to me contains two sentences.
I’m sorry. Thank you for making me leave before I wasted another year.
I do not answer.
Some endings do not need conversation.
Tonight is supposed to be my first real date with Reid.
Naturally, Grant fucks up the calendar.
He forgets he agreed to keep Ava and Miles, then calls forty minutes before dinner to explain that something came up.
Something always comes up when parenting interferes with Grant’s life.
I find a sitter.
Reid does too.
His daughters are staying with a woman who lives two streets away and knows both their schedules better than Grant knows his own children’s birthdays.
We meet at the bar inside the hotel restaurant.
Reid wears dark jeans and a solid T-shirt.
No need for a suit and tie on this man. Ever.
His shoulders stretch in a way that makes concentration difficult.
I wear a black dress I bought because it fits the body I have now.
Not the one I had before Ava.
Not the one Grant remembers.
Mine.
Reid’s eyes move over me once when I arrive.
Slowly.
Then he stands.
“You look incredible.”
My nerves tighten. “Thank you.”
We have twenty minutes before the reservation.
Twenty minutes to pretend I am not thinking about his hands.
The bartender brings wine.
Reid barely touches his.
“You’re… quiet…” I say.
“I need to tell you something.”
My stomach drops.
Apparently betrayal has trained my body to prepare for impact whenever a man starts with a confession.
Reid sees it.
“Nothing bad,” he says.
He reaches into his pocket and places a hotel key card on the bar between us.
I look at the card.
At him.
His jaw is tight.
I think he’s nervous.
“I booked a room,” he says.
Heat moves through me.
“No expectations,” he continues. “We’ll have dinner. And then we can leave. I just?—”
“How long have you wanted me?” I ask.
His eyes hold mine. “Long enough to know I could not answer that while you were married.”
I look at the man next to me.
The man who cooks.
Who listens.
Who notices.
Who looks at my body like Grant’s neglect was never evidence of anything except Grant’s failure.
Reid reaches for the card. “I can also cancel it.”
I place my hand over his. “Right now.”
“Tessa…”
I pick up the key. “Not after dinner.” I stand. “Right. Now.”
* * *
Reid’s hands are big, strong, powerful when they need to be and gentle when required. His breath touches my neck, my body, nothing spared, everything explored. His touch moves between my legs with soft circles, welcoming himself, then offering more.
My hips thrust and I cry out.
I turn my head I feel heat rush to my cheeks.
I place a hand over my mouth.
Reid grasps my wrist and pulls my hand away.
“No, Tessa,” he growls. “I want to hear you. Scream, baby. Scream for me…”
I whimper and stare into his eyes.
Heat attacks me everywhere.
Reid dips down to my chest, moving side to side before trailing a kiss-filled descent that ends with his breath between my legs.
I hold the sheets with fury and his touch ignites a fire that I wasn’t sure would ever burn again.
He gets his screams and I get my explosive moment.
But that’s only the start.
Reid ensures my needs are met first.
He moves up the bed, muscular legs making their commands as I wait for more of him.
As I wait for all of him.
His right hand touches my face. Thumb strokes under my bottom lip.
Forehead pressing against mine. “Oh, fuck, Tessa…”
“I know,” I purr. “Oh… fuck… I know…”
He lowers his hips and I slap at his back. My fingers curl, nails dig, and I pull.
I cry out, remembering how good this could feel.
No…
This is… way better.
This is… right.
This is…
Reid grunts and thrusts harder.
His hands wrap around my body, holding me, taking me.
I feel safe, warm, and the pleasure?
It’s the first time in my life I’ve experienced more than one orgasm in the same moment.
I stop counting after three.
I let Reid take me wherever he wants.
When I end up on top of him, there’s a dreadful moment of panic, but as I watch his eyes move over my body, and then his hands, I feel a surge of confidence I never knew I had.
Now I’m the one taking…
I know my boundaries.
I know my needs.
And I know the man touching places I’ve been desperate to be touched for far too long… is the one who will not rebuild my trust. He’ll be the one who waits patiently, letting me rebuild it.
Moral support and multiple orgasms.
What more could a woman ask for?