On another night, it might be to the club a few blocks over to find a woman willing to take me to her place for a fuck, but not tonight.
“Home too,” I answer before I finish what’s left in my glass. “I have a full day tomorrow.”
That’s a lie, but Kavan won’t know. I’m notorious for going into the office on Sundays. I’ve always spent more time there than anywhere.
Sliding to his feet, he looks me dead in the eye. “There’s no shame in falling in love with your wife, Locke.”
I laugh that off in a low chuckle. “Not going to happen.”
I tell myself that over and over again as he exits the bar and disappears out of view.
I may have felt a connection to my wife tonight that transcended what we agreed to, but love isn’t in the cards for me, especially not with Miss Shaw.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Trina
Sundays are a day of grace.
My mom would tell us that when we were kids, right before she handed us a list of chores that needed to be tended to in our home or at the bakery.
I was always the first to volunteer to wash the floor.
It was a mindless job that never required much effort on my part other than handling a string mop and a large pail of soapy water.
Since I’ve lived away from home, I’ve used Sundays to recharge.
I’m doing that today, but it’s not because I want a reset. It’s because I need an escape.
I couldn’t sleep after coming on my boss’s hand right before he answered his phone.
He took a goddamn call while his fingers were inside of me. It was mere seconds after he honed in on that spot that no man has ever found before.
At least not with me.
It wasn’t even a treasure hunt for Locke. He didn’t need a map. He instinctively knew how to curl one of his fingers in just the right way to send me into an earth-shattering orgasm.
He did that and then seamlessly answered his phone before rushing off to meet someone else.
I didn’t even get a goodbye, or that was fun.
It felt like he penciled in ten minutes to finger fuck me before he continued with his night.
If the dictionary is looking for an image to accompany the definition of humiliation, they could have taken a picture of me last night when I went to bed.
I was defeated.
Embarrassed, and yes, I was mad.
Mad at my husband for answering the phone but also angry with myself for letting my guard down.
I know better than to trust him.
I handle his business affairs. He’s as cutthroat as they come. Less than two weeks ago he axed a long-time employee. When I asked why he said it was because they hadn’t lived up to the Abdons ideal.
He didn’t live up to the Trina Shaw ideal last night, so this fake marriage is officially in separation mode until at least midnight tonight.
I left Mr. Abdon a note on the kitchen counter this morning telling him that I had something to take care of today but would see him tomorrow after work.
I didn’t leave anything for Graham because he deserves nothing from me.
I’m going to spend today back in my simple world with the people who mean the most to me.
Before I do that, I slip the wedding rings from my finger. Instead of shoving them into the pocket of my jeans, I tuck them into a compartment within my purse. I zip it up to secure them in place.
I may not place any emotional value on them, but monetarily they are worth a lot, and once my marriage has come to an end, I’m giving them both back to Mr. Locke.
Maybe one day if he finds a woman willing to marry him for the right reasons, he can give her Mr. Abdon’s late wife’s wedding band.
I doubt a woman exists who would fall in love with him, but miracles happen on a daily basis in New York City, so there’s a slim chance.
As for me, I plan on letting fate lead me to a man I’m meant to marry. By that, I mean a man who won’t take a call when I’m riding his hand to a mind-numbing orgasm.
With a lingering sting still gnawing at me after what transpired last night, I tug open the door to my family’s bakery.
I’m going to spend the day here helping my mom since I know she’s making a batch of cinnamon buns.
“Trina is here!” Clara screams at no one in particular.
I can’t mask the smile that takes over my lips.
This is home.
It doesn’t matter where I go to sleep at night because this sugar-scented brick-faced building in Brooklyn has always felt like my home.
I did my homework in a back room here. I learned how to bake chocolate cake and almond cookies in the industrial kitchen, and I watched a few of my older siblings fall in love here.
My sister, Falon, pops into view from the kitchen. “Triny!”
I lunge myself at her.
Her arms offer me a sense of comfort I’ve never found with anyone else.
She’s only older than me by a few years, but I’ve always looked to her for guidance and advice.
“Fal,” I whisper her name as I relish the embrace. “When did you get back to town?”
“Last night,” she says as she pushes back to look me over. “I’ve missed you.”
I’d say the same, but I don’t think I can get the words past the lump in my throat. I’ve never kept secrets from Falon, but I have to now. I can’t tell her that I married my boss for a short stint to fuel the dreams of a dying man.
It sounds great in logic, but the situation itself is beyond illogical.
It’s complicated, and that doesn’t scratch the surface of what happened between Graham and me last night.
“What’s new in your world?” she asks with a tilt of her head. That sends her brown curls bouncing around her shoulders. “Is there anything I should know about?”
“You should know that I’m craving a cinnamon bun.” I laugh. “I’m here to help make them.”
“I’m on board for that.” She wiggles her left hand in the air. “I need to take off my wedding rings first. Remember the time I lost them in the croissant dough?”
I watch silently as she slips the rings that hold so much meaning to her off her finger. Within the hour, they’ll be back where they belong.
They’re a symbol of her deep and unbreakable bond with her husband, Asher. Mine are nothing but a representation of the depth of my deception and the knowledge that I chose to marry a man who walked away from me last night during one of the most vulnerable moments of my life.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Graham
“You’re here early,” I comment to my wife as I pass her desk en route to my office.
Trina glances in my direction. “I have a busy day.”
It’s nothing compared to mine.
My assistant stacked meeting upon meeting into my calendar for today. Most of those magically appeared during the past two hours.
She’s spent her time making sure that I won’t be hanging out here today.
She avoided me with masterful grace yesterday, even going so far as to arrange a catered dinner for Lloyd and me last night.
Bette was at the helm of that. I have no fucking idea why Trina chose to recruit Lloyd’s spy to serve an under-seasoned halibut dinner to us, but Lloyd cleaned his plate like it was his last meal.