“I can’t. Let go, Valentina.” He shakes his head. His breathing spikes. “Because if I don’t leave now, I’m going to kiss you again and I don’t think I’ll be able to stop this time, not until you’re under me and my cock is buried deep inside you.”
Sébastien pushes me away from him, leaving the apartment. The door slams and I remain standing there for a moment as I try to calm down. Lowering my gaze, I notice the battered state of my clothes. Shaking uncontrollably, I wrap my arms around me as tears leak out of my eyes. I wish I knew why I’m crying, but it’s all a jumble in my head, in my heart. I cry because I am happy when I shouldn’t be. I cry because I’m in love with a man who isn’t my husband. And I cry because my husband doesn’t deserve this kind of betrayal.
THE DAY STARTS LIKE any other. Nothing different. Nothing out of the ordinary. Wake up at five a.m. Go for a run. Come back at six fifteen. Take a shower. Get dressed in a gray suit, a perfectly starched white shirt, and red striped tie. It’s all as it should be. Perfect. Precise. Monotonous. Calculated.
It’s all a damn lie.
Deep down there’s nothing but chaos because of my stupid, weak wife. She’s almost cost me everything. But I’ve got a plan. A plan which will have her running back to me in no time.
Valentina’s fatal flaw is that she cares too much, loves too much, and forgives too easily. She puts everyone before her and her own needs. If my coffee has grown cold, she prepares another pot so I can have fresh, hot coffee. If I’m having a shitty day, she’s the first one to ask if there’s anything she can do to make it better. I cheated on her and she stayed because she loved me too much. And if she’s made to believe that I’m nothing without her, that I need her in my life to survive, she will come back to me with her tail between her legs for having hurt me.
It’s that easy. That simple.
I skip the breakfast Evan, the chef, prepared for me and run out the door, getting in my car. On my way to Gwyneth’s, I give Meredith a call and order her to cancel all my meetings for the day.
I arrive at Gwyneth’s house, let myself in without ringing the doorbell, and go in search of my stepsister. She lives in one of those obnoxious mansions where flashy trumps elegance. She gets off on the knowledge that most people envy her beauty and wealth. The more people hate her, the happier she is. I’ve never understood it.
As I walk through a hall full of flashy paintings and statues, I run into one of the cleaning girls. Pretty, young thing. Upon seeing me, she blushes and drops the duster in her hand, stuttering an apology. I take in the rosy color of her cheeks, her dilated pupils, the catch in her breathing. She wants me, and if it weren’t for the imperative need to talk to my sister, I might have given her sweet body a try. Bet she could fuck me real good.
Smiling my most charming smile, I ask her about Gwyneth.
She seems disoriented at first, blinking repeatedly. She clears her throat, takes a deep breath, and then tells me the whereabouts of my stepsister. She’s still in her bedroom. Figures. Gwyneth subscribes to the belief that no one should be out of bed before eleven a.m.
“And her husband?” I ask, removing an imaginary piece of lint off my jacket.
“He just left, sir.”
I pat the girl’s cheek and tell her she’s a good girl before sending her away. I watch her tight ass enclosed in the blue uniform my sister makes the help wear as she scurries away from me. What a pity …
Without bothering to knock on her door first, I let myself in. Total darkness greets my eyes. A bored sigh escapes my lips as I cross the room, past the grand four-poster bed where Gwyneth is currently asleep, until I reach the windows. I pull back the blackout curtains letting the sun flood the four walls with its bright light. Satisfied, my gaze goes to Gwyneth, finding her lying on her stomach, the naked curves of her shoulder and back inviting.
I go to her, kneel at her bedside, and push aside the river of blond hair covering her face. Unable to have children, our parents adopted Gwyneth and I from different families when we were young. Raised in a foster care system that didn’t care about me, I didn’t know what love was until Marla adopted me. We grew up to love her as our own flesh and blood. When we were little, she used to call us her golden angels, saying that God had sent us to watch over her and to fill her life with beauty. Father used to beat us because he couldn’t stand looking at us.
“My sleeping beauty,” I whisper laughingly in her ear, stirring her awake. My voice sounds rough as sand paper. “Shall I kiss you to see if you can be awoken?”
Gwyneth blinks the sleep away, her eyes getting used to me. “William.”
My name coming from her sounds like a shared secret, an invitation. My mouth lands on her tender lips ever so gently, stealing the air she breathes. Sweetness and warmth, that’s what this kiss tastes like. It’s a friendly peck, but my body immediately reacts as a sense of coming home washes through me.
“Good morning,” I say when the kiss comes to an end.
“What are you doing here?” she asks breathlessly, pressing her fingers on her lips as though she was trying to hold onto the sensation of my mouth on hers a bit longer. “Come to join me for a morning cuddle?”
I let go of her, straightening, and move to sit on the brocade chair next to the bed. Focusing on the midnight blue silk under my hands, I say, “I need you to do something for me, sis.” I raise my eyes, scanning her face. “It has to do with Valentina.”
Lifting herself on her elbows, the sheet barely covers her tits. She’s aware that I can see she’s naked under that flimsy piece of material, but she doesn’t care. Like I said, my sister hasn’t one modest bone in her.
“What did that piece of trash do now?” Her green eyes spark with dislike.
“Gwyneth …” I warn her. “Remember you’re talking about my wife.”
She huffs. “Why do you care what I say about her? You don’t even love her.”
“You’re right, I don’t. But I find it distasteful when you speak about her in that manner. It bores me.”
“Fine,” she says, sounding like a petulant child who didn’t get her way. “But why would you need my help? I’m the last person who could help you with her. Valentina hates my guts.”
“It’s Loretta.” I cross my ankle over my knee and look out the window, finding her landscaping team already hard at work. I sigh, loathing being bothered this early in the morning. “She paid me a visit the other day. Somehow she found out that Valentina is in Paris, and that she won’t come back. She’s gotten it into her head that if Valentina divorces me, she’ll disinherit me,” I drawl.