It’s been another week of reading Verity’s manuscript, and I’m bored. I’m finding it repetitive. Chapter after chapter of detailed sex with Jeremy. Very little to do with her children. She wrote two paragraphs about Crew’s birth, but then went on to talk about the first time they were able to fuck after Crew was born.
It got to a point where I started feeling jealous. I don’t like reading about Jeremy’s sex life. I skimmed a chapter this morning, but finally tossed it aside to get back to work. I finished the outline for the first book today and submitted it to Corey for feedback. He said he’d forward it to the editor at Pantem, because he still hasn’t read any of Verity’s books and wouldn’t know if the outline is sufficient. Until I hear back from them, I don’t really want to start on the second outline. If they come back wanting changes, it will have been work wasted.
I’ve been here almost two weeks now. Corey says they processed my advance and it should hit my account any day now. Once I get the feedback from Pantem, it’ll likely be time for me to move on. I’ve done all I can do in Verity’s office. If it weren’t for not having anywhere to go until that money hits my account, I’d have already left.
I hit a wall today. I’m burnt out from working so much these past two weeks. And I could read more of Verity’s autobiography, but I’m really not in the mood to read about all the ways Verity can suck her husband’s dick.
I miss television. I haven’t stepped foot in their living room since I arrived here almost two weeks ago. I leave the confines of Verity’s office and make myself a bag of popcorn, then sit on the living room sofa and turn on the television. I deserve to be a little lazy because tomorrow is my birthday, but I’m not planning on telling Jeremy that.
I keep glancing at the top of the stairs because I have the perfect view of it from the couch, but Jeremy is nowhere. I haven’t seen much of him over
the last couple of days. I think we both know how close we came to kissing the other night, and how inappropriate that would have been, so we’ve been avoiding each other.
I turn the channel to HGTV and settle into the couch. I’ve watched about fifteen minutes of a house remodel when I finally hear Jeremy coming down the stairs. He pauses mid-step when he sees me in the living room. Then he descends the rest of the stairs and makes his way over, joining me on the couch. He sits in the middle, close enough to reach over and grab a few pieces of my popcorn, but far enough away that we aren’t in danger of touching.
“Research?” he says, propping his feet up on the coffee table in front of him.
I laugh. “Of course. Always working.”
He grabs more popcorn this time, cupping some in his hand. “Verity would binge-watch TV when she had writer’s block. She said it sometimes sparked new ideas.”
I don’t want to talk about Verity, so I change the subject. “I finished an outline today. If it gets approved tomorrow, I’ll probably leave in a couple of days.”
Jeremy stops chewing and looks at me. “Yeah?”
I like that he doesn’t seem happy about the thought of me leaving. “Yes.
And thanks for letting me stay longer than I should have.”
He holds my stare. “Longer than you should have?” He starts chewing again and faces the television. “I don’t think it’s been long enough.”
I don’t know what he means by that. If he thinks I didn’t do enough work while I was here, or if he’s saying it selfishly, like he didn’t get to spend enough time with me.
Sometimes, especially right now, I feel how much he’s drawn to me, but then other times it seems like he works so hard to deny whatever attraction there might be between us. And I get that. I do. But is this how he’s going to spend the rest of his life? Giving up huge parts of himself to care for a woman who is just a shell of the person he married?
I understand he made vows, but at what cost? His entire life? People get married assuming they’ll live long, happy lives together. What happens when one of those is cut short, but the other is expected to live out those vows for the rest of their life?
It doesn’t seem fair. I know if I were married and my husband were in Jeremy’s predicament, I wouldn’t want my husband to feel like he could never move on. But I’m not sure I’ll ever be as obsessed with a man as Verity was with Jeremy.
The show ends and another one begins. Neither of us speaks for several minutes. It’s not that I have nothing to say—I have a lot to say. I just don’t know that it’s my place.
“I don’t know very much about you,” Jeremy says. His head is against the back of the couch and he’s looking at me, casually. “Have you ever been married?”
“Nope,” I say. “Came close a couple of times, but it never worked out.” “How old are you?”
Of course, he would ask me that when my age will expire in just over an hour. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
Jeremy laughs. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because I’ll be thirty-two. Tomorrow.” “Liar.”
“I’m not lying. I’ll show you my driver’s license.” “Good, because I don’t believe you.”
I roll my eyes and then go to the master bedroom to grab my purse. I bring back my driver’s license and hand it to him.
He stares at it, shaking his head. “What a shitty birthday,” he says. “Hanging out with people you barely know. Working all day.”
I shrug. “If I wasn’t here, I’d just be alone in my apartment.”
He stares at my driver’s license a moment longer. When he runs his thumb over my picture, I get actual chills. He didn’t even touch me—he touched my fucking driver’s license—and it turned me on.
I am pathetic.
He hands it back to me and stands up. “Where are you going?”
“To make you a cake,” he says, walking out of the living room.
I smile and then follow him to the kitchen. Jeremy Crawford baking a cake is something I don’t want to miss.
•••
I’m sitting on the island in the middle of the kitchen, watching him put icing on the cake. In all the days I’ve been here, this is only the second time I’ve actually had fun. We haven’t talked about Verity or our tragedies or the contract for the past hour. While the cake was baking, I sat on the bar, my legs dangling off the edge of it. Jeremy leaned against the counter in front of me and we talked about movies, music, our likes and dislikes.
We’ve actually started getting to know each other outside of everything that ties us together. He was relaxed the night we went out to dinner with Crew, but I haven’t seen him this at ease inside these walls since I arrived.
I can almost—almost—understand Verity’s addiction to him.
“Go back to the living room,” he says as he pulls the candles from a drawer.
“Why?”
“Because. I have to walk in with your cake and sing you ‘Happy Birthday.’ Give you the full effect.”
I roll my head and jump off the bar, then go back to the couch. I mute the television because I want to hear him singing me happy birthday without interruptions. I keep hitting the information button on the remote, checking the time. He’s waiting for it to turn midnight to make it official.
Right when it hits midnight, I can see the flicker of candles as he makes his way around the corner. I laugh when he starts to sing quietly so he doesn’t wake up Crew.
“Happy birthday to you,” he whispers. He’s cut a single slice of cake and stuck a candle in the top of it. “Happy birthday to you.”
I’m still laughing when he reaches the couch, slowly kneeling down on it so he doesn’t spill the cake or risk the candle being blown out when he sits next to me.
“Happy birthday, dear Lowen. Happy birthday to you.”
We’re facing each other on the couch so I can make a wish and blow out the candle, but I’m not sure what to wish for. I’ve been lucky enough to land a really great job. I’m about to get more money than I’ve ever had in my bank account at one time. The only thing in my life that I feel like I want right now that I don’t have is him. I look him in the eye, then blow out the candle.
“What’d you wish for?”
“If I tell you, it won’t come true.”
The way he smiles at me seems heavily flirtatious. “Maybe you can tell me after it comes true.”
He doesn’t hand me the cake. He makes a show of it, slicing into it with a fork. “Do you know what the secret ingredient is to making such a moist cake?”
He holds out the fork and I take it from him. “What is it?” “Pudding.”
I take a bite of the cake and smile. “It’s really good,” I say with a mouthful.
“Pudding,” he says again. I laugh.
He holds the plate, and I take another bite, then offer him the fork. He shakes his head. “I had a bite in the kitchen.”
I don’t know why, but I wish I had seen that. I also wish I knew if he tasted like chocolate.
Jeremy lifts a hand. “You have icing on your…” He points at my mouth. I brush at it, but he shakes his head. “Right here.” He slides his thumb across my bottom lip.
I swallow the bite of cake.
His thumb doesn’t leave my lip. It lingers there.
Fuck. I can’t breathe.
I’m aching everywhere because he’s so close, but I don’t know what I’m allowed to do about it. I want to drop my fork, I want him to drop the plate of cake, I want him to kiss me. But I’m not the married one here. I don’t want to make the first move and he shouldn’t make the first move, but I’m desperate for him.
He doesn’t drop the cake. Instead, he leans across me and places it on the end table. In the same fluid movement, he brings his hand to my head and presses his lips to mine. Even after all the anticipation I’ve held for this moment, it still feels completely unexpected.
I close my eyes and drop the fork on the floor, leaning back into the arm of the couch. He follows me, crawling on top of me, our lips never disconnecting. I part my lips, and he sweeps his tongue inside my mouth. The slowness of the kiss doesn’t last long. As soon as we get our first tastes of each other, the kiss becomes manic. It’s everything I imagined kissing him would feel like. Radiation, explosives, dynamite. Anything and everything dangerous.
We taste like chocolate as we trade kisses, back and forth, push and pull. His hand is tangled in my hair, and with every second this kiss continues, we become infused with the couch beneath us, him relaxing into me as I melt into the cushions.
His mouth leaves mine in search of other parts of me he seems eager to taste. My jaw, my neck, the tops of my breasts. It’s as if he’s been starving himself of me. He’s kissing me and touching me with the hunger of a man who’s been fasting his whole life.
His hand is sliding up my shirt and his fingers are warm, trickling over my skin like drops of hot water.
He’s back at my mouth, but only momentarily. Long enough to find my tongue before he pulls back and takes off his shirt. My hands go to his chest like they belong there, pressed against the curves of his abdomen. I want to tell him this is what I wished for when I blew out my candle, but I’m afraid any conversation will lead him to think about what we’re doing and how we shouldn’t be doing it, so I remain quiet.
I lean my head back against the arm of the couch, wanting him to explore even more of me.
He does. He pulls off my shirt and sees that I’m not wearing a bra beneath my pajamas. He groans, and it’s beautiful, and then he takes my nipple into his mouth, forcing a whimper to escape my lips.
I lift my head to watch him, but my blood runs cold when my eyes are pulled to the figure standing at the top of the stairs. She’s just standing there, watching her husband as his mouth roams over my breast.
My entire body stiffens beneath Jeremy.
Verity’s fists clench at her sides before she rushes back in the direction of her room.
I gasp, shoving him, pushing him. “Verity,” I say, breathless. He stops kissing me and then lifts his head, but he doesn’t move. “Verity,” I say again, wanting him to understand that he needs to get the fuck off me.
He lifts up onto his arms, confused.
“Verity!” I say again, but with more urgency. It’s all I can say. My fear has taken hold of me and I struggle to inhale, to exhale.
What the fuck?
Jeremy is on his knees now, gripping the back of the couch as he moves away. “I’m sorry.”
I pull my knees up and scoot to the far end of the couch, away from him. I cover my mouth. “Oh, God.” The words crash against my trembling fingers.
He tries to touch my arm reassuringly, but I flinch. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “I shouldn’t have kissed you.”
I’m shaking my head because he doesn’t understand. He thinks I’m upset and feel guilty that he’s married, but I saw her. Standing. She was standing. I point to the top of the stairs. “I saw her.” I whisper it, quietly, because I’m terrified to say it louder. “She was standing at the top of the stairs.”
I can see the confusion cross his face as he turns to look at the stairs. He looks back at me. “She can’t walk, Lowen.”
I’m not crazy. I stand up and back away from the couch, covering my bare chest with my arm. I point at the stairs again, finding my voice this time. “Your fucking wife was standing at the top of the fucking stairs, Jeremy! I know what I saw!”
He sees in my eyes that I’m telling the truth. Two seconds pass before he’s off the couch and running up the stairs, toward her bedroom.
He’s not leaving me down here alone.
I grab my shirt, pull it on over my head, and then run after him. I refuse to be alone in this house for another second.
When I reach the top of the stairs, he’s standing in her doorway, staring into her room. He hears me approaching. And then he just…leaves. He brushes past me without making eye contact and stomps down the stairs.
I take several steps until I’m close enough to peek into her room. I only glance in there for one second. It’s all the time I need to see that she’s in bed. Under the covers. Asleep.
I shake my head, feeling my knees wanting to buckle. This can’t be happening. I somehow make it to the stairs, but I only make it halfway down them before I have to sit. I can’t move. I can barely draw a breath. My heart has never beat this fast.
Jeremy is at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at me. He probably doesn’t know what to think about what just happened. I don’t know what to think. He walks back and forth in front of the stairs, looking at me every now and then, I’m sure because he’s waiting for me to start laughing at my tasteless joke. It wasn’t a joke.
“I saw her,” I whisper.
He hears me. He looks at me, not with anger, but with apology. He walks up the stairs and helps me up, then keeps his arm around me as he leads me back down. He takes me to the bedroom and closes the door, then wraps himself around me. I bury my face in his neck, wanting the image of her out of my head. “I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I just… Maybe I haven’t been getting enough sleep… Maybe I…”
“It’s my fault,” Jeremy says, interrupting me. “You’ve been working for two weeks without a break. You’re exhausted. And then I—we—it’s paranoia. Guilt. I don’t know.” He pulls back, holding my face with both hands. “I think we both need about twelve hours of solid sleep.”
I’m convinced by what I saw. We can blame it on exhaustion or guilt, but I saw her. I saw everything. Her fists clenched at her sides. The anger in her expression before she rushed away.
“Do you want some water?”
I shake my head. I don’t want him to leave. I don’t want to be alone. “Please don’t leave me alone tonight,” I beg.
His expression doesn’t reveal what he’s thinking at all. He nods, just a little, then says, “I won’t. But I need to turn off the TV and lock the doors. Put the cake in the fridge.” He heads for the door. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
I go to the bathroom and wash my face, hoping the cold water will help calm me. It doesn’t. When I return to the bedroom, Jeremy is sliding the lock across the top of the door. “I can’t stay all night,” he says. “I don’t want Crew to get scared if he wakes up and can’t find me.”
I climb into the bed and face the window. Jeremy climbs in behind me, then wraps himself around me. I can feel his heartbeat, and it’s almost as fast as mine. He shares the pillow with me, finds my hand, and slides his fingers through mine.
I try to mimic his pattern of breathing so that mine will slow down. I’m breathing through my nose because my jaw is clamped too tight to take in normal breaths. Jeremy presses a kiss to the side of my head.
“Relax,” he whispers. “You’re okay.”
I try to relax. And maybe I do, but it’s only because we both lie here for so long, it’s hard for muscles to retain that much tension after a while. “Jeremy?” I whisper.
He runs a thumb across my hand to let me know he hears me. “Is there a chance… Could she be faking her injuries?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Almost as if he has to give the question some thought. “No,” he finally says. “I saw the scans.”
“But people get better. Injuries heal.”
“I know,” he says. “But Verity wouldn’t fake something like this. No one would. It would be impossible.”
I close my eyes, because he’s trying to reassure me that he knows her well enough to know that she wouldn’t do something like that. But if there’s one thing I know that Jeremy doesn’t…it’s that he doesn’t know Verity at all.
