It was messy. All-consuming. And exactly what I needed.
When he released me, I gasped. But my limbs were no longer stiff and folded into themselves. Once again, I was relaxed. Fluid.
At peace.
“For what it’s worth, I love you too,” Matthew said, equally out of breath. “And I’m sorry. I’m a jealous asshole.”
I reached up and pushed a few strands of hair off his forehead. His hair was a deliciously deep brown that shone like the sides of a skyscraper in the rain.
“You’re just frustrated,” I said. “I understand. I am too.”
Matthew pressed his forehead to mine, eyes closed as our breathing returned to normal.
“When…” he started, seeming to search for words. “Fuck it. If you were my wife—”
“Your wife?” I practically squeaked, arching back to look at him.
A broad, cocky smirk—the one that always managed to enthrall and irritate me at the same time— spread across his face. “Well, yeah. My wife. What do you think I’m so jealous of?”
“I—I hadn’t really thought about it, to be honest.”
It was the truth. Or was it? I’d be lying if I said in moments of weakness, I hadn’t imagined what it would be like to come home to this man night after night. Wake up with that smirk greeting me each morning. Be his “doll” for the rest of our lives.
He seemed to understand this as he leaned in, touched his nose to mine, then kissed me again, ending it with a light nip on my lower lip.
“Like the stars, baby. Remember?” He stood up again and tipped my chin with one finger. “If you were mine, I’d celebrate the hell out of our anniversary. We’d be swing dancing at a hundred. You can believe that.”
The visions returned. This time they were fifty years from now, both of us old and gray. Me with finger-rolled hair curls, and Matthew, stooped and gray with his ever-present fedora, holding hands by the river while we watched the sun drop below the New York City skyline. I settled back into my pillows and let myself swim in the idea for a few moments more. We both did, until the truth sank in.
It would never happen. It couldn’t.
Matthew pressed one more kiss to my forehead, sighed, and returned to his clothes. “Is he at least home? Will he bring you flowers? Maybe a card or something?”
I shook my head. “Unlikely. Actually, you might like to know he was making some phone calls last night, and—”
“Don’t.” Matthew shook his head as he finished with the iron. He pulled on his undershirt, then the Oxford. “Even if it would be helpful, it shouldn’t come from you.”
I watched as he did up his buttons and tucked in his clothes, making sure everything aligned correctly with the zipper of his pants. Neat, no fuss, but always precise in a way most men couldn’t manage anymore. Classic.
It made me forget for a moment how irritatingly reticent he was to take any information I offered about Calvin. This wasn’t the first time I had offered. And every time, he always refused.
“Honestly,” I said. “What is the point of any of this if I can’t help?”
“The point, duchess, is that we have to keep this case clean. And out of our damn bed, if you don’t mind.”
“Well, the sooner it’s over, the sooner we can spend more time in it, don’t you think?”
“Nina.”
I stopped and sighed, feeling very much like a petulant child. I didn’t like not getting my way. I never had.
Matthew cocked his head, looking at me like he felt sorry for me. It was utterly infuriating. “Nina,” he said again.
“I only want to help.”
“You are helping. By staying safe.”
The word rattled. He had no idea how unsafe I really was.
He pulled his tie around his collar and came to sit with me on the bed, offering the two ends. It was as big a compliment as I could get from Matthew Zola—the honor of looping his half Windsor knot.
I went straight to work, if only because it allowed me to focus on the crimson paisley and avoid getting lost in those deep green eyes again.
“Look, Nina, you know you can’t tell me things like that. We’re in the middle of the discovery process right now, which means that at some point before the trial, I have to divulge every single thing I learn to Calvin’s lawyers. Along with where I got the information. If they find out it came from you…well, it will probably get thrown out anyway once he