Home > Shame (Secrets And Lies #2)(6)

Shame (Secrets And Lies #2)(6)
Author: Ainsley Booth

And once I was lying to her about money and business, it was easy to lean into lies in other ways. Private ways.

I realize with a start that I’m now standing in front of our front door. I let myself in to a dangerously quiet space.

“Grace,” I call out, my voice shaking. “I’m back.”

No reply. Dropping my bag, I head straight to the bedroom, prepared to see her closet empty and suitcases gone.

Instead, I find her asleep on the bed, her face blotchy.

 

 

7

 

 

Grace

 

 

I drift awake, half-conscious when I realize Luke is wrapped around me, spooning me from behind.

His arm is heavy around my waist. His palm pressed to my belly. His thighs, longer than mine, are wedged right against my legs.

And for a moment, I’m struck with a deep familiarity. It’s been too long, but once upon a time, he would hold me like this all the time.

If I wake all the way up, I’ll push him away and jump out of bed. I am going to do that very soon, in fact. But he’s so warm and I can feel his heartbeat.

Don’t cry. I’ve cried enough today, and felt so lonely I wanted to crawl out of my skin. I must have passed out on the bed while he was at work, and now he’s here, holding me.

Warm.

Strong.

Cheater.

I start to shake, and he makes a soothing sound from behind me. “I’m here,” he says, tightening his arms around me. His voice is rough, like gravel. “Is this okay?”

No. But I nod, because I like it even as I hate it.

“I’m sorry I went to the office.” He buries his face in my hair. “I shouldn’t have left you. We have so much to talk about.”

“I don’t want to talk,” I whisper. My voice is gravelly, too. “I need to…” I trail off. It doesn’t matter. Not today.

“Do you have work to do for your show?”

Tears spill out from behind my eyelids and fall in wet, fat drops on my pillow. “You’re not interested in that, remember?”

He swears under his breath. “I remember. I’m sorry.”

And we’re done cuddling. I push myself up, and he rolls onto his back, his arm falling over his face.

I go to the closet and find myself some clean clothes, then go into the bathroom where just last night I confronted him about the affair. Was that less than twenty-four hours ago? I lock the door and start the shower.

 

 

I take my time when I’m done, drying my hair and carefully applying serums to my face because I’m not fresh out of law school. Then I get dressed before opening the door to the bedroom again.

Luke is sitting on the bed. He looks like he’s been run over by a truck.

Good.

He straightens up and gives me a desperate look. “Are you hungry?”

I shake my head.

“Let me cook something for dinner.”

I don’t want him to do anything nice for me right now. “We can order in.”

“I want—”

“I couldn’t fucking care less what you want.” I pin him with a sharp glare, meant to hurt.

He holds the gaze like an eager puppy, like any attention is good attention, which is probably what got him into this situation in the first place.

Pathetic.

He shrugs. “Fair enough. We’ll order in whatever you want. Maybe that’s better. Give us more time to talk—”

“I don’t want to talk,” I mutter.

Luke keeps going. “I want to give you my full attention. Fix what I’ve broken. You have a show coming up—”

“I don’t want to talk,” I repeat louder this time. “Because of the show. Because I’m a mess inside.” My voice raises. “Because I can’t look at you without shaking.”

And because I already miss the warmth of his body wrapped around me.

I hate you, I think in my head.

“Don’t look at me, then.” He gets up and moves to the armchair by the fireplace, out of my direct line of sight.

I move to the spot on the bed he just vacated, grab the blanket, and wrap that lingering residual heat around my body.

I’m hollow inside.

I want him to hold me again.

I hate him.

I curl onto my side and stare out the window at the sky.

Luke clears his throat. “I saw Alex at the office. Just him and Cameron, that was it. I told them I need to quietly take some time and work from home. Alex is going to cover my meetings—and he gave me shit for not being supportive of your show.”

“That’s why you asked about it.”

“He reminded me I’d been a dick to you. I’m sorry.”

I don’t reply to that. It’s hardly the most important problem in front of us right now. But now that he’s brought it up, my mind races with the to-do list I have for the next two weeks.

And then the opening night itself. I’m certainly not looking forward to pasting on a smile that will hurt by the end of three hours, pressing flesh with potential buyers for a catalogue of work that in an instant, my husband blew up my entire practiced pitch for.

The Death in a Marriage piece certainly takes on a new meaning. But all the other pieces are just as deadly to me. Each of them represents in a subtle way the erotic fantasies I had about Luke.

I’m a fool.

A fool who is going to have to sell pieces that no longer feel real to me.

Fuck.

Throwing off the blanket, I force myself to stand. “I need to go to the studio.” I swallow hard. “I might stay there tonight. I need some space.”

Luke’s out of the chair before I get to the bedroom door. He gets in front of me, blocking the exit, and I see red. I shove at his chest and burst into tears.

“Go to Sam’s,” he mutters under his breath. “He’s at Hazel’s for the week. Don’t sleep at the studio.”

I shove again and he bumps against the door frame, then slides out of the way.

I don’t look back. I grab my bag and my coat and leave before the tears consume me.

 

 

8

 

 

Luke

 

 

I spend a sleepless night alone in our bed. I can’t get warm, even wearing a sweater. At some point in the middle of the night, I pull on a hoodie from college that Grace had long ago appropriated as hers.

It smells like her.

And as I stare at the clock turn to half-past three in the morning, something inside me cracks. I reach for my phone in the dark and it lights up as I pick it up.

Grace: I can’t sleep. I hate you. I just thought you should know.

Luke: I can’t sleep either. I love you. And I understand.

Grace: I hate my show, too.

Luke: Can we talk? Can you call me?

 

 

She doesn’t reply, and the phone doesn’t ring. After a long, painful minute that feels like an hour, I try her phone, but it doesn’t go through.

Dawn comes before I fall asleep. I wake up with a start not long after, thinking I feel the weight of her sliding into bed next to me. But the loft is still empty.

 

 

9

 

 

Grace

 

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