Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 74766 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74766 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
But as I follow him up the front steps, I can’t shake the feeling that something just shifted between us. And I’m not sure if that terrifies me or thrills me more.
DINNER THAT NIGHT IS different.
For the past week and a half, I’ve eaten alone in the kitchen while Gavine takes his meals in the formal dining room. We share breakfast each morning in uncomfortable silence, but after that, he disappears into his office or leaves the ranch entirely. I never know where he goes or what he does, and I don’t think I have the right to ask.
Tonight, when I’m halfway through my leftover casserole at the kitchen island, Clarice appears in the doorway.
“Mrs. Launcelot? Your husband would like you to join him for dinner.”
I blink at her in confusion. “Join him?”
“In the dining room, ma’am. He’s waiting.”
My heart does something funny in my chest, but I follow Clarice through the house on unsteady legs. Gavine sits at the head of the massive mahogany table, still wearing his white dress shirt from whatever business he conducted today, though he’s rolled the sleeves up to reveal his forearms.
“Sit,” he says without looking up from cutting his steak.
I take the chair to his right (the only one with a place setting) and stare down at the elaborate meal the cook prepared. Beef tenderloin with some kind of wine sauce, roasted asparagus, potatoes that probably have a French name I can’t pronounce.
We eat in silence, and it’s a struggle not to keep stealing glances at him every so often. I know I should be used to marrying someone like him. But I’m not. I don’t know if I’ll ever be.
When I reach for my water glass, I catch him watching the movement. When I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, his gaze follows that too.
My fork trembles slightly in my grip.
“The beef is delicious,” I manage.
He nods. “Tell me about your parents.”
The stiff formality of the question catches me off guard, but my heart does a little skip anyway.
I know this doesn’t have to mean anything. It can just be Gavine making small talk. But even so, hope blossoms in my heart as I tell him about my parents. He doesn’t have to show interest, but he has.
Am I not really supposed to read anything that?
“And your sister?”
My heart sinks a little, but I quickly reprimand myself for feeling this way. To pretend that Jessica doesn’t exist is not just childish but silly, too. They have a history, and I...I have to live with that, whatever it may mean moving forward.
“She’s everything I’m not, in a good way.”
“But you clearly don’t mind.”
“I’m not...outgoing like her.” And deep inside my heart, I’m grateful to God that He didn’t give me a heart that yearned for the same things my older sister enjoyed. How tortuous life would be if that were the case, to hate living in Jessica’s shadow but also knowing there’s no way I can be prettier or more charming or more glamorous than her.
“So what do you enjoy...aside from quilting and reading?”
You.
The word comes out of nowhere, and I almost groan.
Seriously, Wednesday?
“You’ve thought of something,” Gavine observes.
I quickly shake my head. “It’s nothing. I’m just...ordinary.”
And that’s always been true.
I am ordinary. I was born one. And to stay comfortably ordinary, I must stop thinking about my husband in ways that are the opposite of ordinary.
We finish the meal in that same strange silence. When he sets down his fork, I automatically stand to clear the dishes, grateful for something to do with my nervous energy.
I reach for his plate at the same moment he shifts forward, and that’s when I feel it.
The slightest contact as our fingers brush, just the rough calluses of his fingertips grazing my knuckles, and oh...
His touch...
It’s more than enough for shockwaves of pleasure to blaze through my body, and I can’t seem to make myself pull away.
His fingers linger against mine for a heartbeat longer.
And then it’s gone, with Gavine suddenly jerking his hand back like I’ve burned him.
I stand there frozen, staring down at my tingling knuckles while my heart pounds against my ribs. For two weeks, he’s been stiffly careful not to touch me. Sometimes to the point where I felt like I had some kind of contagious disease. He’d hand me things without letting our fingers meet, step aside if I got too close, maintain that invisible wall between us at all times.
But this time...
Don’t go there, I warn myself.
This was just a freak accident. Nothing’s changed. The attraction in this marriage is still completely one-sided.
Chapter 5
TODAY, Gavine decided grimly.
Today, he would get rid of her so he could have his old life back.
The decision should have felt liberating. Instead, it sat in his chest like a stone as he stalked through the house, searching for his wife. Three weeks. Three weeks of this ridiculous charade, and for what? Jessica clearly wasn’t coming back. The whole damn arrangement had been pointless from the start.