CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“WHERE DO YOU think you’re going? I’m not done with you yet.”
Vivienne laughed as she slipped out of his grip and made a break for it, crawling toward the edge of the bed. “I need to hydrate or I won’t last the night.”
“I’ll allow it,” Wes decreed. “But be quick,” he advised, with a smack on the ass that made her giggle, but also made her want to hurry back and explore the pulse of heat that flared in her belly. Grabbing his T-shirt from the floor, she pulled the black cotton over her head.
His lips twisted with wry humor. “Yes. Modesty is key after how we’ve spent the last four hours.”
In response, she pulled the pillow from beneath his head and smushed it on his face.
“There’s some bottled water in the fridge,” he advised, his voice muffled by her feather-filled retribution.
Vivienne padded her way across his loft, eyes roving over the decor, his possessions. It was a classy place, for sure, but it didn’t scream tech billionaire. It was more understated than that. Cozier. It took her a second to realize the reason for that was all the little personal touches that he used to tease her about. The ones, she suddenly realized, that she’d phased out of her own life in the intervening years.
Picture frames on the table, a shelf full of books, things he used to be far more utilitarian about.
“Oh my God. Are these throw pillows on your couch?” she teased with faux horror. When they’d lived together, he’d been adamantly anti–throw pillow since beading and tassels and fringe made them uncomfortable, which, he’d argued, robbed them of their pillow destiny. Granted, his were plain, but it was still a big step for Wes.
“What can I say? I guess you rubbed off on me.”
The idea of that pleased her more than it should, but her grin faded as she approached the kitchen and her eyes lit on his stainless steel fridge.
Or more accurately, on the crayon drawing that was proudly displayed on it.
To Uncle Wes, it said. From Jeremy.
The sudden buzzing in her brain was disorienting, and she braced a hand against his butcher-block island as she tried to catch her breath.
Reality was not to be denied though. It seeped through all the cracks in her heart, reminding her that there was no happy ending for her and Wes. They’d tried this once, and it had all gone to shit.
They were only here now because she’d lied to him.
The vilest of lies.
She looked down at her finger. At the perfect ring. Perfect because he’d chosen it for the old her. The one who hadn’t known yet what a coward she would become.
“Viv?”
His voice was too loud, and the realization that he was behind her snapped her head up.
She swiped a hand across her cheek to erase the tear that had escaped against her will, wondering just how long she’d been standing there.
“You okay?” There was concern on his handsome face as he stepped up to the fridge, pulling open the door and grabbing each of them a plastic bottle from the door rack.
He’d pulled on his jeans, but he hadn’t done them up. Her throat ached at the sight of him as he set the water on the counter beside her.
“I was just looking at your picture.” Her voice sounded small, but it echoed in the empty feeling in her chest.
He glanced over his shoulder as he cracked open the lid on his own bottle. “Nice, right?” He was grinning with pride when he turned back to her, but there was something else there. Something that sliced at her heart. Love. “You might not recognize me, but that is actually a very accurate depiction of my backyard soccer skills.”
“Erin had a baby.” A little boy that Wes obviously adored. He was an uncle.
“Yeah. She found herself a good guy. Peter’s a high school chemistry teacher.” Wes took a long swallow before putting the cap back on the bottle and setting it next to the one she hadn’t touched. “But Jeremy, that kid’s the best. You’re gonna love him.”
It was the worst possible thing he could have said. Including her like that, like part of the family, brought everything roiling to the surface, past and present clashing in such a painful, disorienting way.
“We didn’t use a condom.”
He frowned at her abrupt announcement, and she braced for his fury before she realized it was just confusion. And concern.
“I know. We haven’t used one since we established we were both clean after the elevator, remember? Do you want to sit down? You look a little pale.”
Wes lifted her onto the counter before she had a chance to protest. Not that she could have even if she’d wanted to, because other words started spilling out of her mouth instead. Words she should have said to him a long time ago.
“Not now. Then. That night in your car.” About a month and a half before everything had gone oh so wrong. “Our second anniversary.”
They’d been driving to dinner to celebrate when Wes’s hand had wandered far enough up her thigh to ruin his anniversary present—a black lace garter belt and thigh-highs that Viv hadn’t been able to resist. Wes had felt the same way. They’d pulled into an alley so he could unwrap his gift right away, which had resulted in them missing the window of their fancy reservation. They’d ended up improvising their anniversary dinner with fast-food burgers and milkshakes in bed, followed by a couple more rounds of dessert.
She could see the memory solidify behind his eyes. Then he went deathly still.
“So?”
But as nonchalantly as he might have meant for it to sound, the syllable was cocked and loaded. Viv could actually feel him processing the news, the way his body braced against the unwelcome
