Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty-Nine
JORDAN
I think you got drunk because you were afraid of what you might feel after.
I let the words play over and over. Just like they have been since yesterday morning.
Funny. How badly I wish that were the truth.
Because it couldn’t be further from it.
I didn’t get drunk because I was afraid of what I might feel after. I already knew what I would feel.
I was already feeling it.
I haven’t stopped feeling it. Not for twenty fucking years.
No. I got drunk to stop feeling. Just for one damn second. One hopeful minute. One hour where I could shove all those feelings I have for Matt down and let it just be sex.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
I sink lower, the hot water engulfing my neck, splashing onto my cheeks.
I take a slow breath as I close my eyes, forcing the tight furrow between my brows to soften.
It’s been there since yesterday. Since the talk with Matt, where I tried to backtrack every decision I made the night before like a complete idiot.
Like Matt was just some guy from a bar who doesn’t know every inch of me, inside and out.
Complete idiot.
Not only is he not some guy from the bar—I swear to God he knows me better than I know myself.
The things he said. The way he called me out.
He was right. Mostly.
I think you got drunk because you were afraid of what you might feel after.
Except for that one.
The faint sound of a door shutting cuts through my peace and quiet, followed by Matt’s voice.
“Babe?” he calls out. “I’m back.” His voice grows louder as he gets closer. “Where you at? I made dinner reservations.”
“I’m in the tub,” I call back.
The Zurich suite is not like the Zermatt suite.
The Zermatt suite was beautiful.
But the Zurich suite?
Holy shit.
It’s modern luxury done right, and it’s huge. I got curious this afternoon and looked up the price online. Ten thousand a night. In Swiss Francs. I don’t even know what that converts to in dollars, but it’s more. A lot more.
And this tub alone is worth every penny.
Well… every one of Matt’s pennies.
A soft knock taps against the door.
“Hey, babe?”
“Yeah?”
“I made reservations for seven. Can you be ready by six-thirty?”
“What time is it?” I ask, too comfortable to move.
“Five-fifteen,” he replies.
“Yeah. That works.” Then, just to ease his anxiety about me running late, I add, “I’m not washing my hair. I’ll be ready.”
“Alright.” He lingers by the door. “How’s the tub?”
“Amazing,” I say, closing my eyes again, wishing he could join me.
Yeah… that’s the other thing. My mind keeps wandering into places it probably shouldn’t.
“Alright. How was your day?”
I open my eyes again, not irritated, but not exactly in the mood to have a conversation through a closed door while I’m trying to relax.
“It was good. I’ll tell you about it in a bit. I’m almost done.”
He takes the hint. “Okay. I’ll be out here when you’re ready.”
A smile tugs at my lips. Like I didn’t already know that.
“Okay.”
He walks away, and I let my thoughts drift right back to him.
I’ve been clear from the very beginning about what I want. And it’s always the same damn thing.
How can something so sexy make me feel this conflicted?
I already know the answer. I’ve been dancing around it all day.
The truth is buried somewhere deep in the pile of shit I call denial—the place I tell myself things I know aren’t true, just to make myself feel better. To justify my actions.
This particular lie is labeled Matt only wants to sleep with me for sex.
Because Matt sleeps with everyone. And it’s easier to believe that than admit he might want more.
Sure, he makes constant jokes about sleeping together. Flirts shamelessly. Stands right on the edge of the line with that sexy, infuriating smirk, waiting for me to break.
And when I do?
He’s always there when I wake up.
Jensen once told me a guy will never waste his time on a woman he’s not interested in.
Even in a friends-with-benefits situation.
Because at the end of the day, no man will put in the extra effort to be friends with a woman just to sleep with her.
If he’s not interested, there would only be sex. Nothing more.
It might just be Jensen’s opinion. But it stuck with me.
And the amount of time Matt has spent on me?
It’s unmatched.
Richard didn’t put in half the effort Matt does. And Matt’s not even getting laid. He never looked at me the way Matt does. His hand never lingered on my back.
Matt makes me feel beautiful. Sexy. Desired. God, one look from him does more for me than sex ever did with Richard. Or anyone.
But it isn’t just that.
No one has ever made me feel like their number one priority the way Matt does. I’m the person he looks for in a room full of people. The one he wants to talk to. The one he wants to go home with.
He keeps choosing me.
Over and over.
And I’ve kept running.
A sting builds behind my eyes.
It sucks to realize the only reason you’re unhappy is because of yourself. Because you’ve never been brave enough to take what you want, even when it’s been right in front of you the whole time, regardless of everyone else’s opinions.
Matt hasn’t changed. He’s never made me feel unworthy of or less than him.
You might wake up and realize you want to stay. That you actually like being my wife.
I swallow, my eyes brimming with tears.
Dammit.
I don’t want to have to redo my makeup. I won’t be on time if I do.
I sit up and reach for my towel, dabbing carefully at my eyes.
I don’t need to wake up to know that one’s true. I do like being married to Matt. I just haven’t processed what we’re doing as marriage… because it’s not.
We didn’t get married for love, but that doesn’t mean we don’t love each other.
I love Cole. I care about him and his future, of course I do, but…
I love Matt, too. I’ve always loved Matt. And it’s the only reason I said yes. There isn’t another single person I would do this for.
Cole was just the excuse that allowed me to say yes.
You’re allowed to stay.
That one.
That’s the one that won’t leave me alone.
I haven’t allowed myself to consider an alternate ending. Matt said get married, then divorced, and that was my cue to put my shield up. To protect my heart. I never let myself think, What if we don’t get divorced?
Why would I?
Matt’s not exactly the guy who gets excited about marriage. In all the time we dated, we only discussed it once, and it was brief. We were over before it ever had the chance to become real.
But hearing him say that…
God. Did he even mean it?
If I didn’t know him so well, maybe I could pretend he didn’t.
But Matt doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean.
I’ve known since I was fifteen that Matt was the end goal. He’s the one I pictured my future with: marriage, babies, the house in the Hamptons with two dogs and a cat.
Jesus. What the hell have I been doing?
The man of my literal dreams is out there. The same boy I fell in love with—only stronger, wiser, and still choosing me twenty years later. And I’ve been denying him because of what—other fucking people? My family. The tabloids. My insecurities.
That’s a me problem. My ego.
It’s always been a me problem.
My throat tightens.
Shit.
I blink, and a stream of tears fall, slow and painful, the sting of wasted time burning down my cheeks.
I’ve been blaming everyone else. Clinging to my justifications. Telling myself it was for Matt, that he’d be better off without me. That I was holding him back.
Anything, as long as I felt vindicated in my choices.
I’ve been waiting for Matt to claim me. To tell me he loves me.
All this time, I’ve wanted him to love me loud.
But Matt doesn’t love loud.
He loves quietly.
In the way he shows up. The way he wipes my tears when I’m sad. The way he tracks my phone to make sure I’m safe. The way he walks across town when I’m spiraling.
He gives me his credit card.
He takes me to Switzerland.
He stands up to my family.
Jesus Christ.
He doesn’t sleep with me when I know he wants to.
My heartbeat drums louder, picking up speed, swelling in my chest.
Oh my God.
I pull the drain and stand, wiping my eyes and cheeks before drying the rest of my body.
I step into my lace thong and slip into the black satin robe I brought from home, tying it around my waist.
Pulling the elastic from my hair, I tip my head over and use the blow dryer to fluff and dry the damp pieces of hair. Then I wipe the smeared mascara from under my eyes.
It’s not perfect. I’m nowhere near ready.
I open the door anyway.
Matt’s in the living room sitting on the couch, phone in hand. He looks up, clocks my bare legs with a raised brow, then glances at his watch.
“Babe, you gonna be ready in forty minutes?”
“Yep.”
I don’t move as his gaze drags down my body, slow and intentional, sparking a flicker of heat low in my core.
I take a steady breath, trying to quiet the pounding of my pulse, and move toward him.
My body takes over, pushing the fear and doubts somewhere far away. I feel high, my thoughts slipping into a hazy blur, the world narrowing until all that’s left is Matt and the way he’s looking at me.
“What are you doing?” A corner of his mouth curves.
I bite my bottom lip, stepping closer, slotting his knees between my legs. I pluck his phone from his hands and set it aside.
“Babe—”
I climb into his lap, straddling him, my hands sliding along his chest, one slipping behind his neck.
He startles, hands lifting innocently into the air.
I crush my lips to his, hard and needy, kissing him like he’s the only thing I’ve ever really wanted.
Because he is.
For a split second, he doesn’t move. Like he’s afraid to touch me. Afraid this isn’t real.
His hands lower slowly, carefully, until his touch settles against my skin. I slide my tongue into his mouth and he takes over instantly, deepening the kiss, hungry but restrained.
He pulls back abruptly.
“Babe…” His voice is rough. Confused. “What are you doing?”
I smile, breathless. “Kissing you.”