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7

December

A aron is waiting for me in the foyer of our house with my black dress coat and a black sequin clutch when I’ve finished getting ready. Right, I guess I won’t wear my favorite beige, knee-length coat then.

Slowing my steps, I pause a moment to take him in. At thirty-four years old, Aaron’s once-dark hair is somehow already peppered with grays, and his lean runner’s frame is looking like he’s skipped one too many meals in favor of working through lunch. He was a third-year law student at Abbott University when I met him during the spring semester of freshman year. I used to appreciate our six-year age gap. He was more mature than the other guys I had dated—more grounded—and he knew what he wanted. I just didn’t realize that when he said he wanted me, it meant he wanted to add me to his collection of possessions.

It didn’t take long for him to propose, he even said he wanted to lock me down before I could realize I was too good for him. I naively thought that meant he knew what he had and he would always treat me like the queen he put on a pedestal while we were dating.

I wasn’t quite so off-base. He did treat me well at the beginning of our marriage. But looking back on it, we married so quickly that I didn’t wait long enough for him to show his true colors.

When he spots me approaching him, a deep frown spreads over his face. “What are you wearing?”

Smoothing my hands down the silk fabric of my floor-length, emerald green dress, I tense from the tone in his question. “D-didn’t you say it was a black tie dress code?”

“I did.”

“This is a black tie gown I got from that boutique you love in the city. The owner said it was on the list of the dresses you had pre-approved.” That’s a stretch. She said it was on the list of approved colors Aaron had given her. This specific dress, however, was not on the rack of preselected dresses he had chosen.

He scoffs. “I think I would have remembered selecting such a scandalous gown for my wife. Come,” he commands, holding his arm out for me.

I press my shaking hand in his as he guides me toward the door.

Everything is fine. See? He’s even holding my hand and letting the dress slide.

Those optimistic thoughts are quickly put to rest as soon as he shoves me in front of the floor-length mirror, the statement piece of our foyer.

My body turns rigid as Aaron stands behind me, his gaze running over my reflection in the mirror. “Do you want to know what I see when I look at you in this dress?”

I don’t. I really don’t.

He doesn’t give me a chance to respond either way. “I see a pathetic little housewife, who is so lonely and needy for attention that she’s decided to act out. What do you think the partners at my firm will think when the man they’re grooming to join them as a partner shows up with such a stupid slut on his arm?”

His words cut deep, but they are nothing he hasn’t called me before.

But what cuts deeper than his words is the harsh reality that’s reflected back at me. He may see me as those terrible things, but what I see is so much worse. I see a woman scared, tired, and desperate to escape. I see a woman battered and willing to wave the white flag. I see a woman who has become so dejected that she might just give up.

Aaron scowls. “Unfortunately, we don’t have time for you to change your dress. Being late is an even bigger sin than dressing like an escort.” He roughly shoves my coat at me before opening the door for himself, not bothering to lock up or walk with me on the slick cement that leads to the town car waiting for us in the driveway.

One more week. That’s all. And then I’m free.

I’m not sure how in the hell I didn’t notice it before. Of course, Carson’s father, the man in an expensive black tuxedo smiling next to his mother, is one of the founding partners of Procter & Wilder LLP. The very law firm where my husband is a senior associate. The same firm where one of the partners is set to retire in the next year. And the same firm that is hosting this very swanky end-of-the-year celebration on New Year’s Eve.

Shit, this is so bad.

I’ve met Carson and McKenna’s mom a few times, and I met their father at Carson’s first hockey game. But up until this moment, I hadn’t pieced together that their father was also the very man whom my husband plans to take over for when he retires. Carson doesn’t know Aaron works for his father’s firm, and he can’t find out. He saw the cracks in my facade on Halloween, and he’s been paying far too close attention to me since then.

I need to get out of here.

Excusing myself to the lady’s room, I turn and take a few steps before I run right into a very broad chest. His black, velvet tuxedo jacket smells like notes of a spicy cologne I’ve become far too familiar with lately.

Carson gently grasps my shoulders to steady me. “Austin,” he whispers breathlessly before audibly swallowing, making his Adam’s apple bob in the most shockingly erotic way. “What are you doing here?”

I stare up into his ocean eyes and get lost for a moment.

“Dakota? What happened?” Aaron asks, and I’ve got to give him credit, he even sounds genuinely concerned. Carson’s hands drop to his sides instantly.

No. No, no, no. This can’t be happening.

“Excuse me, I’m such a clutz.” Taking a step back, I try to sound lighthearted despite the panic that’s causing my pulse to beat at a thunderous rate. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” I say, holding my hand out to Carson. “I’m Dakota, and this is my husband, Aaron Ackerman.”

Carson stares back at me with a puzzled expression that he quickly schools. He must sense my need for him to play along. The moment his hand connects with mine, the feeling of warmth I get any time he touches me floods my system. “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Ackerman. I’m Carson Wilder.” Hearing him greet me as Mrs. Ackerman sounds like nails on a chalkboard. It sounds all wrong coming from his lips.

“Ah, right. You’re Theodore and Elizabeth’s son.” Who? Oh, right. I’ve come to know them as Liz and Teddy, or Gaga and Papa, as McKenna calls them around Cadence.

“The one and only,” Carson replies, holding his hand out for Aaron to shake. I don’t miss the clench of his clean-shaven jaw.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I ask that you please find your assigned seats. The dinner service will begin shortly,” the emcee for the evening announces. With that, Aaron drags me toward our table, which is, thankfully, a few tables away from Carson’s.

But that doesn’t stop his gaze from being fixed on me anytime I look up during dinner. Each time my eyes connect with his, he looks a little more vexed. His posture is rigid, jaw clenched, and his eyes discerning the truth behind my shriveling front.

The bar and another associate kept Aaron occupied for a good portion of the evening, giving me a reprieve from his suffocating presence. He just came to tell me he’d been asked to have a cigar with some of the partners. I’m hoping that will keep him occupied until he’s ready to leave.

I’m just about to make an escape to hide away in the restroom when an outstretched hand appears before me.

“May I have this dance, Austin?” Carson literally bows down before me with his hand still outstretched. The sincerity in the question shining in his ocean eyes when he lifts his head has me throwing all of my good sense out the window.

His gaze is so intense that I’m left speechless. He must take my silence as reluctance.

Still unable to form any words, I place my hand in his outstretched one and nod. Nerves fill my belly as he guides us out onto the dance floor.

The opening notes of Frank Sinatra’s “The Way You Look Tonight” begin to play as Carson spins me toward him. He places one hand on the small of my back, his other holding mine, and we start to sway to the classic melody.

Even with my four-inch heels, Carson still towers over me. He brings his head down, and for one foolish, reckless moment, I wonder if he will kiss me. Instead, he brings his lips to my ear and softly says, “You look absolutely stunning, Dakota. The shade of your dress makes your emerald eyes even more captivating. I didn’t think that was possible, yet here you are, looking like a true vision.”

What a stark difference his compliment about my appearance is from what Aaron told me before we left. Carson’s tone is full of wonderment. As they seem to always do in his presence, my cheeks burn under his attention.

“I promise I don’t mean any disrespect when I ask this, but I have to know. Are you happy with him?” As the question leaves his lips, Carson pulls back and stares so deeply into my eyes I fear he knows the answer without me having to say a thing.

Clearing the tightness from my throat, I reply, “I assure you, Carson, my happiness isn’t anything you need to worry about. Happiness is a fleeting emotion. It comes and goes. It changes meaning based on the circumstance.”

He sees right through me. And his next words only prove that. “Why do I get the sense that you’re avoiding answering my question because you know the truth will set you free?”

If only answering him truthfully could really set me free from the shackles my marriage has imprisoned me with.

The hope shining in Carson’s eyes scares me. What is his motive? Why does he want to know?

I don’t like the way he pulls reluctant smiles from me. I don’t like the way my heart races when he’s near. I don’t like the way I’ve started looking forward to seeing him while I’m at work. And I don’t like the look of yearning in his eyes I see right now. I need to put an end to this.

“Not all of us have lived such a privileged life as you, Golden Boy. Some of us can’t be set free by merely answering a prying question.”

Carson rears back as if he’s been struck. Sadness etches his features, and I curse myself for causing this man an ounce of pain.

I need to get out of here. Knowing what’s done is done, I don’t bother with an apology. Instead, I run out of the ballroom. As far away from Carson Wilder as I can get.