“Oh,” she replied.
I could tell from her tone that she wanted to press but wasn’t sure whether her inquiry would be well received.
“It’s not too bad—the cravings,” I volunteered.
“Be honest. On a scale of one to ten, how severe are they?”
“A seven,” I answered promptly.
“Jesus,” she whispered.
I ran a hand down her waist to her hip and squeezed gently.
“I miss how alcohol made me feel. It felt like the world finally shut up for a minute and I could breathe. There’s still a part of me that craves the numbness, but I can’t be off my game—not now with that psycho on the loose.”
She hummed an acknowledgment and tugged on a few hairs on my knee that earned her a slap on the ass. She hissed through her teeth, and I smiled in satisfaction.
“When do we interview the security companies?”
“First thing in the morning.”
“Will we have time before Kieran’s party?”
“I convinced him to move the party to the evening.”
She snorted and tightened her arm around me.
“I’m sure that blew over well.”
“Not really. There was a whole bunch of bitching and moaning about how his theme was something or another garden party.”
“The Gilded Grove,” my lovely wife reminded me.
“Fucking ridiculous,” I muttered. “He went on a twenty-minute rant about how he couldn’t host a rooftop garden party at 5:00 in the evening. He claimed he had to rework the entire menu, lighting, and lawn chair positioning, and didn’t shut up until Dad walked in, gave him his credit card, and left. Kieran disappeared like a fucking ghost after that.”
“Mom and Dad are enablers,” Kiyah commented.
“Yeah, and you’re one of the biggest recipients.”
“Not too much on me, now. I’m working on it through intensive therapy.”
“You are, darling. I’m proud of you,” I said earnestly, stroking her cheek with a knuckle.
“Thanks. I’m proud of you, too,” she whispered.
Slowly, I eased the distance between us, getting caught up in her enchanting eyes, soft whispers, and gentle smile. Our lips met, and my craving for alcohol lessened with each nibble and tongue stroke. I could’ve been overthinking—most likely overthinking—and that was what led to me pulling away.Because in the moment, I felt I was trading one addiction for another.
* * *
I was reviewing briefs on the couch when Kiyah floated in with a tray of refreshments. I did a double-take at her attire. She wore caramel trousers with a tucked-in, sleeveless black blouse, and paired her ensemble with gold jewelry and black heels. I realized her facial piercings were missing.
“Who are you, and what have you done with my wife?” I teased.
“She’s still here. She’s just growing up a little,” she replied, setting the tray on the coffee table. “What is that look for?” she asked, placing her hands on her hips.
“What look? I’m not making a look.”
“You frowned.”