Her smile is small. ‘Nathan was the socialite really. He was the one with all the friends.’
‘And now...’ I place my glass down on the stainless-steel centre island. ‘When w—’
‘Wait!’
She leans across the island and takes what looks like a concrete coaster from the middle, sets it down beside my glass and places it on top. ‘Sorry, that’s my force of habit. Nathan was a stickler for them.’
Not her, though. That much is clear. I’m starting to get the impression that this whole house, the office, it’s all Nathan.
‘When was the last time you had people around? Your friends?’
She frowns at me. ‘Why does it matter?’
‘I’m just curious.’
Her eyes search mine and she takes a shaky breath, starts to move away. ‘And I should get ready. We don’t want to be late, remember.’
I reach for her on impulse. ‘Hang on.’
Her arm flexes beneath my touch, the warmth of her skin permeating my palm. I want to pull her to me, kiss the surprised look off her face. But I can do neither and what do I really have to say when all I want is her reassurance that she does have friends? That she does have people she can talk to. That her social circle didn’t revolve entirely around Nathan and since he’s gone is non-existent.
Do I really want to expose that vulnerability in her minutes before we head out to a crucial dinner?
Her lashes flicker as she looks up at me and something inside me pulses, squeezes, makes it hard to think.
‘What, Valentine?’ Her voice is soft, husky, her lips glossy from where she’s wet them and Jesus, do I want to be the one wetting them.
‘Just tell me, when was the last time you had people around?’
She shakes her head, her laugh brittle, and the vulnerability I spy in her almost breaks me. ‘You’re my PR advisor, not my counsellor, Boretti. I’m going to get ready.’
And with that she sweeps out of my grasp and leaves me standing there in a cloud of her perfume, knowing the answer as well as if she’d said it herself.
I turn away, my eyes sweeping around the room and seeing it with fresh eyes. There’s no vibrancy, no fire or spark, colour or warmth. There’s no her.
The strange sensation in my gut swells and I lift my tonic, frown into it before throwing back a swig and wishing for the first time in a long time that it was something stronger.
Olivia
‘When was the last time you had people around? Your friends?’
I close the bedroom door and lean back against it, take a breath.
What does it matter? Why do I let him get under my skin?
I’m fine. I’m more than fine.
Though I know the mantra is getting old.
I push away from the door and throw back a gulp of G&T, wincing as the ice-cold drink catches in my throat and my eyes water. It’s just the drink, not the pang his words provoked.
I strip off my robe and toss it onto the bed. The guest bed. I haven’t slept in the master room since Nathan passed and the clothes in this wardrobe are all new. As is the bedding and the accessories. My first attempt at making this house a home again.
I lift my bra, already laid out on the bed, and slip it on along with its matching thong, their colour the perfect match for the burgundy bodycon dress I’ve chosen to wear. I step into it and fasten it up the back. It’s the first time I’ve worn it. Nathan would never have approved of the daring colour but as I turn to look in the mirrored door of the wardrobe I smile and smooth my hands down my hips. Turn this way and that.
It’s perfect and it makes me feel good...except...
I frown as I feel the ridge of my thong through the slim-fitting fabric and eye the mirror closely.
Not so perfect.
I check the rear, the front again, do a little wriggle as I try to reposition the band and make it invisible.
Blasted VPL. It’s not happening.
I look to the closed door, beyond which Valentine is waiting down the stairs, and ponder the idea of going to dinner with him and whoever else he has lined up minus my teeny tiny slip of a thong.
I mean, it’s hardly covering much anyway, not really, and so...
Little flutters start to erupt deep inside me. It’s not something I’ve ever done before but hey, it’s another for the bucket list...
But it’s crazy.
A good...seriously daring...weird kind of crazy.
And hell, it beats the way I felt when I first entered the bedroom. This brings back the thrill of being near Valentine again, of having his scent fill my kitchen and his eyes burn into mine.
I smile as I bend forward and part the slit that runs up one thigh, reaching beneath to tug off my thong. I’ve already forgone the tights, my legs are glossed and primed to be unveiled tonight. It seems my bare pussy is too... I can’t quite quash the giddy and disbelieving laugh that erupts as I toss the strip of lace back onto the bed and smooth my dress back down. I eye the mirror—There. Perfect.
I slide my feet into my waiting shoes. They’re classic black with killer heels, something Nathan did approve of, so walking in them is a breeze, and I lift my black clutch off the bed. It’s already loaded up with my purse, lipstick and phone, and as I throw back more of my drink and walk downstairs I feel ready for anything.
‘Valentine!’ I call from the hallway, placing the half-finished drink on the console table—sans coaster, how daring. ‘I’m good to go.’
He appears in the kitchen doorway and my breath stutters. I’m fully aware of how he looks, I saw him not fifteen minutes ago, but seeing him again...he’s just lethal. Lethal to my sanity, my neglected libido, everything.
And I’d feel foolish for my sudden
