As each day passes, she learns new ways to accept his dominion. After all, she has a lot to atone for. Flirting with disaster with her ex-lover turned brother-in-law might be forgivable, but it’s not so easily forgotten.
And neither are skeletons. If there’s one thing Kayla has learned it’s that skeletons don’t just come out of the closet; they bust through with the power of a locomotive, mindless of the destruction they cause.
For the sake of her sanity, Kayla must make a tough decision, even if it means leaving everything behind.
“It really boils down to one thing,” Simone said. “Do you trust him?”
She made it sound so easy, but as I examined my feelings and tore apart his words, dissected his actions, I realized that I did. Mostly. There were plenty of things not to trust him about—anytime he came near me with his cock at the ready and a belt or whip in his fist, for instance—but on a fundamental level, I did trust him.
If I didn’t, why would I keep putting myself through this? Why keep bending and bending and bending?
“I do trust him,” I said, swiping my bangs to the side. “I love him. More than I could ever say. More than even makes sense.”
“Then I’d put the baby mama out of your head. He married you, and though I won’t begin to understand or approve of your…weird relationship, he has always come across as pretty fucking whipped.”
I almost spluttered my tea all over the table at her words. Gage, whipped? But the more I thought about it, the more it clicked, because when you got down to the nitty-gritty, we had each other wrapped. “I guess you’re right. I just wish I could get that woman out of my head. The way she touches him, and the way she glares at me…God, Simone, she makes me see red and green at the same time.”
“You need a fucking hobby.” Simone’s mouth twisted into a scowl, but her gaze softened as she said it to take out some of the sting.
“A hobby?” I asked, absently picking at my half-eaten quiche. Apparently, the subject of Katherine made me lose my appetite. Or maybe it was the smell of overcooked cheese. I pushed the plate away, scrunching my nose. “Why do you say that?”
Simone made a scoffing sound, and I glanced up to find her reclined in her seat, arms crossed. “To hear you talk, it sounds like your whole life revolves around Gage and what he may or may not be doing with Katherine.”
A hobby might not be a bad idea. Maybe I could start collecting trinkets, like dolphins or dragons.
Definitely elephants. Lord knew I had plenty of those in my life. Gigantic ones that ate up too much space and sucked up all the air. One stood between Gage and me in the form of Katherine. But the biggest one sat smack in the middle of Simone and me.
This elephant’s name was Ian, and he’d grown too secure in his comfy spot since that damn note had magically appeared on my door. But it was easier, safer, to focus on my marriage and the interloper named Katherine. The subject of Ian was too dangerous. Too painful.
Simone must have agreed because she didn’t bring him up once.
Gemma James is a USA Today and Amazon bestselling author of a blend of genres, from new adult suspense to dark erotic romance. She loves to explore the darker side of human nature in her fiction, and she’s morbidly curious about anything dark and edgy, from deviant sex to serial killers. Readers have described her stories as being “not for the faint of heart.”
She warns you to heed their words! Her playground isn’t full of rainbows and kittens, though she likes both. She lives in Oregon with her husband and their four children–three rambunctious UFC/wrestling-loving boys and one girl who steals everyone’s attention.