Page 58 of Unwrapped

“Okay.”

“I shouldn’t have invited her. It was a mistake.”

I stare at him. “You think?”

“I made these plans before Christmas. I thought— I don’t know what I thought. That we could have a nice evening. That it might help.”

“Help?” I almost laugh. “Help what, exactly?”

“Help us get back to some kind of regular footing. I thought having a guest might make things feel more normal.”

“You thought it would be normal for me to sit across the table from you and watch your date flirt with you?” I exclaim. “You thought that would be helpful?”

“Not when you put it like that.”

“She spent the entire dinner touching you. Every time she laughed, her hand was on your arm.”

He runs a hand over his face. “I know. I should have stopped that.”

“You should have stopped the whole evening. The second you realized what was happening, you should have ended it.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

I’m so sick of him being sorry. Sorry for kissing me, sorry for fucking me, sorry for ending it, sorry for inviting Camille. It’s like he thinks apologizing is the same as fixing something. I get off the bed. I can’t sit there looking up at him while he stands in the doorway looking contrite. I need to move.

“You can say that you’re sorry, but it looked like you were enjoying it. You sat there and let her make plans for next Christmas. You let her touch you. You barely said a word.”

“Sophie.”

“Don’t Sophie me. Don’t use that voice like I’m being irrational. You ended things with me yesterday and tonight you invited another woman into our house and made me sit through dinner watching her come on to you. So yeah, I’m a little fucking irrational right now.”

He takes a step into the room. “I understand why you’re upset. You have every right to be. But I need you to understand that I didn’t enjoy a single minute of that dinner.”

“Right.”

“I’m serious. The whole time she was here, all I could think about was you.”

“Oh, really? Is that why you kept looking at me like you were afraid I was going to start crying or something? Because you were thinking about me?”

“Yes.”

“Bullshit.”

“Sophie.” His voice changes and gets tighter. “Do you have any idea how difficult the last twenty-four hours have been for me?”

“More difficult than they’ve been for me? Because from where I’m standing, you’re the one who got to decide when it started and when it ended. You’re the one who gets to go on dates with other women. So forgive me if I’m not overwhelmed by how difficult your life is right now.”

“That’s not fair.”

He crosses the room and then he’s standing in front of me, the space between us charged with energy. “Do you think I wanted her here? Do you think I enjoyed watching you sit there getting more and more miserable while she touched my arm? The whole time she was talking, all I could think about was you. About Christmas Eve. About your body. About how it felt to have you under me. About how badly I wanted to be upstairs with you instead of down there with her.”

The air between us sizzles, the anger turning hot and dangerous.

“You don’t get to say that,” I say quietly. “You ended it. You said it was wrong. So which is it, Vince? Is it wrong, or do you want me?”

He looks at me, and for the first time all night, I see the control start to crack. His jaw works. His eyes are dark, pupils blown.

“Both,” he says. “It’s both, and I can’t—I can’t reconcile it, Sophie. I can’t make it make sense. I know it’s wrong. I know the reasons. And I still want you so badly I can’t think straight.”