Page 39

It’s modern and updated with a feminine and elegant touch, definitely not my taste, but it still holds the classic beauty of the home. A mix of modern and traditional. It’s all Jules.
“Jules,” I call out again, pocketing my keys and wiping my shoes on the mat before stepping onto the plush area rug in the foyer.
“I’m sorry,” I hear Jules say through the hall before I see her. She rounds the corner of what looks like the dining room, both hands on her left ear as she slips an earring into place. She’s barefoot, wearing a navy blue dress with white polka dots and a skinny white leather belt at her waist. She’s gorgeous as always, but something’s off. Something’s wrong although I can’t tell what.
“Everything okay?” I ask carefully, staying right where I am as she bends down to slip on a pair of navy blue heels.
“Fine, just fine.” She shakes out her hair and stands upright, taking a step toward me before turning on her heel and heading back the way she came.
I follow her into the dark dining room. It doesn’t look a damn thing like a dining room, though. The furniture is all here, butstacks of papers cover the table, along with a laptop. On top of the buffet is a printer. She’s using the room as an office.
“Sorry about the mess.” Her voice is dampened as she turns around. “I just need my purse.” She starts to walk past me, making her way to the door, but I put my arm out, my palm against the doorway and wait for her to look at me.
When she does, my heart drops. Her eyes are rimmed in red. Although her makeup is flawless, she can’t hide that she was crying. Not from me.
“What’s wrong?” It comes out as a question, but it’s more of a command.
Her lips are the same dark red shade they were when I first met her and as she parts them, my eyes are drawn to them. She doesn’t say anything though, she merely licks them and turns away from me. For the first time since we met, she’s deliberately disobeying me. Hiding from me.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” She pushes my arm away, to leave me and deny me again, but I’m not letting this go. I grip her hip tight enough that she stops and looks at me.
“That’s not how this works. I told you, if you’re with me, you’re with me.” Her hard expression vanishes as I speak to her, replaced by nothing but hurt.
“You don’t own me.” She bites out the words meant to make me mad, meant to destroy the ease between us.
“It’s not about that, Jules.” My voice is low as I release her. She doesn’t walk off; she stands there waiting for my next move. She has to know how good this is between us. She knows whatever the hell it is, I’ll take the burden from her.
“I don’t like seeing you upset.” I bring my lips closer to hers. “Tell me what’s wrong, so I can fix it.” I open my mouth to give her a reason not to push me away, to tell her that she can trust me. That I care for her, to tell her everything I know she wants to hear, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Luckily, I don’t have to.
She moves her hands to her face for only a moment, her expression crumpling before she falls into my chest. She gives in to me so easily. It’s addictive. I wrap my arms around her, feeling her shoulders shake and shudder with a soft sob.
“I didn’t want to cry again,” she says into my chest, muffled by the suit jacket and her hands still covering her face. She inhales deeply as I bend down, running my hand up and down her back in soothing strokes and kiss her hair repeatedly.
“It’s all right, whatever it is, I’ll take care of it.” I don’t know why I promise her something I know I may not be able to accommodate. It’s stupid of me to say it and it gets the reaction it should from an independent woman like Jules. She pushes away from me, wiping under her eyes and taking a shuddering breath.
“It’s nothing you—” she stops to close her eyes and calm herself. “It can’t be fixed.” She glances at a photograph in a silver frame behind her on the wall and then wipes under her eyes again, walking to a large mirror on the far side of the dining room.
I only catch a glimpse of the photograph before turning my back to it. It’s from her wedding day and he’s in it. Obviously. He was her husband after all.
Panic races through me and a sick feeling churns my stomach. “It’s about your husband?”
She peeks over her shoulder, looking guilty. The fucking irony. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” My steps are just as careful as my words as I walk over to her, placing a hand on her delicate shoulder and watching her in the mirror. “Is everything okay?”
“No,” she answers quickly and sniffles once. She’s already fixed her makeup and looking as though she’s back to pretending nothing’s wrong, but then her eyes meet mine in the mirror. Her baby blues are filled with anger and an unforgiving chill.“He had an apartment,” she says with certainty. “A place for his mistresses or one-night stands or whatever they were.”
I attempt a look that expresses shock, but none of that is news to me. I wasn’t sure if she knew. For the first time since meeting her, I feel guilty for not telling her. As if somehow I could have saved her this heartache if I’d given her a piece of the truth. Only a piece.
She laughs something wicked and sad, a mix of both as she shakes her head and says, “You think I’m pathetic, don’t you? A housewife who had no idea what her husband was doing behind her back.” Her voice is strained toward the end of the statement and the strength leaves her with each word. I hate how she does this. How she blames herself, belittles herself. She’s stronger than she knows. And worth so much more.
“What he did is a reflection of himself, not you.” Taking another step closer to her, I stand behind her with her back touching my chest, just barely. “You aren’t pathetic, Jules.” I kiss the side of her neck, my eyes on hers in the mirror as I say, “I’d never think that.”
“I do,” she says. “He cheated once. He was so upset. He cried and swore up and down he’d never do it again. And I believed him.”
My heart beats erratically and I’m desperate to ask who he cheated with. to see if Jules knows her name.I keep my mouth closed and wait for more from her.
“I believed him.” The pain comes through in her words as she turns in my arms, placing her small hands on the lapels of my jacket. Her eyes travel along the buttons of my shirt, her fingers soon following. “I really thought he was good to me.”