Page 118 of Carnal Wagers

“That’s it. I’m buying you all the DIY tools tonight.”

I sucked in a chuckle and tucked my legs under me. “You are absurd.”

“No, I’m a freaking genius.”

“Maeve…I have to see this through.”

“Oh god.” Her horror blared through the line. “No, babe, no.”

“What?”

“You’re falling in love with him.”

“I’m not—”

“I wasn’t born yesterday. You are. Your voice wouldn’t be shaking otherwise. I warned you. You said this was only supposed to be revenge. You were only supposed to get back what you felt was owed.”

“In a way, he owes me this too.”

“He’ll only hurt you, like he’s already done.”

I rubbed my eyes, unable to voice another denial. Was it love? I wasn’t sure, but it was something. Something strong enough for the idea of it ending to hurt.

“This is only a setback.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“Yes.”

I had to. In a way, I saw myself in him. There was a darkness swirling behind his eyes, chipping away at him. I’d seen it. I’d witnessed him fighting it. There was pain, hurt, and a hole in him in need of healing, just like me. He’d been helping my edges sew themselves back together. Not perfectly—nothing broken ever healed without a scar—but it was enough for new skin to knit over the wound into something unique and strong. I wanted to do that for him too.

She growled long and hard. “You’re deluding yourself. He likes Alice.”

“Well, that was the point.”

“So what happens next? What about Alizé? What happens when he finds out who you really are? Do you really think he’ll still care about you? Fuck, Al. Protect your heart, damn it. I don’t want to see you left in pieces, and he will do that to you.”

“He won’t. I mean something to him.”

“You don’t even know why he abandoned you from the get-go seven years ago. What if it’s your last name he can’t stand?” Her voice softened. “What if whatever he feels for you now isn’t enough to overcome that? What if he abandons you again?”

My jaw fell open, but nothing came out. Words clogged my throat before they crumbled and plunged into churning stomach acid. My insecurities spearheaded my thoughts because I couldn’t ignore how credible that sounded.

“I have to go,” I whispered, dropping my head between my legs. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

She wasn’t wrong. I needed answers from him, but I wasn’t ready to hear the possibility that it had all been an illusion.

My feelings were real, and I wanted my husband. I needed him to want me, too, the real me. A conversation meant I either went back to the old me, who hid her longing behind ambition and a wall of confidence, or we moved forward together as a real couple.

Chapter 30

As I wrapped myself in a pastel-blue scarf, my thumb stroked over my favorite photo of us on my phone. It was from our weekend trip to Cape Cod a week ago. My big brute snapped the picture mid-peck to my cheek, his midnight eyes scintillating from the sunset’s glow and a secret tilt to his lips reserved just for me. It was the best two days of my life. My husband held my hand as we walked down Commercial Street, peeking into art galleries and little shops while snacking on fried clams and lobster rolls. That night after dinner, we lay around a private fire on Race Point Beach and shared stories from our childhood. Then he made love to me to the sound of lapping waves and crackling wood, brine spray breezing over us. It was the perfect date I’d always hoped for.

“We can go back there soon, if you wish.”

I startled at Cillian’s sudden nearness. He leaned over the backrest of the couch, and the bristles of his beard grazed my cheek. Any annoyance from his conversation with his brothers was smoothed away, all his aggression seemingly purged from his system. Only softness remained.

“Anything to make you happy.” He kissed the corner of my mouth, and a knot twisted in my stomach. “Come on. Get your shoes on. Arthur said you wanted to go out for a walk by the harbor. Then we can settle on where to eat for dinner.”