Please give me something else to think—
"There's no need to apologize."
And there it is.
An answered prayer that tempts me to think my husband has been wrong all these years. He told me before that church is only for losers, and at that time I believed him.
"You asked for my help."
With our heads so close, Mr. Everford’s voice almost feels like I have an angel whispering straight to my ears.
A handsome angel who sounds just like James Bond, that is.
"And I chose to give it. So take the help you asked for."
The sound of voices reaches my ears as the elevator doors slide open, and I...just react without thinking.
I bury my head against his chest like a little chick burrowing into a cozy little nest, and I only realize what I've done when I feel his strong, hard chest vibrate against me in a silent chuckle.
What in the world are you doing, Nicole Petty—
Oh.
I've been Nicole Pettyfer for almost twenty years, but now I'm wondering how long that will last, and...
How long does it take to stop being someone?
How long does it take to not be Mrs. Pettyfer anymore?
No, no, no.
I really don't want to do this.
But it's just too late.
The tears are falling, and I can't seem to stop crying. His shirt has completely gone wet, and—
"It's okay."
He's speaking again.
My husband's boss.
"Cry as much as you want."
The words low enough that I know I'm the only one to hear it.
And somehow, this...just makes everything real.
Sandy and Tiny, I mean, Delia.
Their shapes under the covers.
In a room that I paid with my own money.
Money that I secretly worked so hard for because I wanted to surprise him with a suite upgrade.
And the moment I remember that...