Page 2 of Until Tomorrow (Love Doesn’t Cure All: The Ashwood Duet #1)

Logan

When Eva Ashwood walked into a room, heads turned. My wife was the definition of stunning with her luscious dark hair in perfect curls and those blue eyes you could see coming from a mile away. She was all curves and porcelain skin, a pretty smile and thick lashes.

But my wife also had an air about her. It was the kind of air that dared you to fuck around and find out.

She owned her title as a powerful woman.

I just happened to be privy to the knowledge that my wife was the sweetest, softest human being on the planet.

She cried over puppy commercials and donated to every animal shelter within a hundred miles.

She couldn’t go out without giving money to the homeless and buying them food when she saw them.

She learned their names and stories—made them feel important and seen.

Her heart was bigger than anyone else I knew, and it showed in everything she did.

All in all, Eva was far too good for the high society circles we ran in.

That dress she wore clung to her curves like liquid sapphire, and her smile lit up the whole damn restaurant as she caught sight of me.

While she chatted up the hostess, I took my chance to just admire her.

God, she was incredible. How many women in five-thousand-dollar dresses stopped to chat up the college student at the hostess stand?

None that I knew of .

Fuck, I was a horrible person. She deserved so much better than the likes of me. In the twenty-five years we’d been together, this was the first time I truly felt unworthy of her.

“Hello, sweetheart,” she greeted happily as she neared. I stood to give her a chaste kiss—nothing too salacious for being in public—and pulled out her chair.

“How are you?” I asked as I sat with her. “How was work?”

Eva didn’t need to work—not really. I made more than enough to support our lavish lifestyle and then some.

However, she needed something to do with her time besides spending it with the country club ladies.

She’d probably kill the country club ladies if she had to spend all her time with them.

They were their own breed of something while Eva was a goddamn diamond in the rough.

She tolerated the women purely because their husbands were my coworkers, my clients, and more.

To fill her time, she worked part-time for a fashion magazine in their graphic design department.

Honestly, I wasn’t sure what she did for them, but she enjoyed it.

Mostly. All I knew was it kept some part of her creative spark alive—the one that used to be a painter, a sculptor, a drawer, and more.

In college, art had consumed her. But, as with so many passions, life had a way of dwindling our aspirations.

Passion didn’t always equal realistic or logical.

“It was good,” Eva said. She paused, smiling up at the waiter as he brought our wines.

We frequented Piccolo Amore weekly and had been doing so since the day I closed my first big deal over ten years ago.

Our regular status gained us a private table in the corner, an owner who often spoiled us, and a wait staff who knew what we wanted without us ever having to order.

The predictability of it was comforting.

“We’re working on a new spread for a special release.

And you know, blah, blah, blah… yada, yada, yada.

It’s all very boring. I won’t do that to you. How are you?”

“I’m okay,” I lied. I was far from okay, but I wasn’t about to bring that up before dinner. Or at all. Who fucking knew? I could feel my resolve slipping as those gorgeous ocean eyes filled with concern.

“Just okay?” Her hand slipped through mine. “Did you not get the Carlton account? I know that was a big deal in your plan towards being a junior partner. If they overlooked you, sweetheart, they’re making a mistake. I know it, the wives all know it, and someone needs to knock some sense—”

“What?” I interrupted, frowning. “What—oh! Oh… oh, right. The Carlton account. No, they gave me that.”

Shit, I’d completely forgotten to tell her that. And from the look on her face, it wasn’t getting past her that I had.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Eva asked.

“I just… don’t feel that great,” I told her with a modicum of honesty. I hadn’t felt great in a long time. Her hand left mine, and she reached up to brush her fingers through my hairline. The comforting gesture was disarming. I leaned into her touch, feeling her slip right past all my defenses.

“Why don’t we go home?” she suggested softly. “We can do whatever you want. Go for a walk, watch a movie, get—”

“I want a divorce,” I blurted out and immediately regretted it as she shut up.

Her face came together carefully as she stared at me, pulling away.

Shit. This wasn’t how I intended to do this.

Unfortunately, it was a little late for that.

I cleared my throat and repeated quietly, “I want a divorce, Eva.”

A storm of emotions swirled through her eyes, her intense gaze never giving up. I would’ve given anything to know what she was thinking at that moment.

“No,” she said. The words came out so simply, as if that was all that was needed to fix the issue.

“Eva—”

“We’re not getting a divorce, Logan,” she repeated. “Whatever I did wrong, I can fix it if you give me a chance.”

Oh, my sweet angel. I took her hand, running my thumb over her delicate knuckles.

“It’s not about you, Eva,” I told her, but she shook her head. “I already had the papers drawn up. All I need is for you to sign them. I’m giving you everything, and I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”

“I don’t…” Eva faltered, swallowing hard. Her hand left mine, and I watched the wheels turn in her head. Reaching for her wine, she downed the full glass before standing. “I said no. Now, I’m going home. Whether you come with me or not is up to you.”

I sighed, scrubbing my hands over my face while she walked away. She knew I’d follow. I always had. All I needed to do was maintain my resolve. As much as it would hurt, I had to do this.