Chapter seven

THE DRAWER STAYS OPEN

ELENA

I closed the drawer quietly, as if it might wake up.

The pink spoon was inside it, together with my wedding ring. Two things that should never have shared the same space. I stood there with my hand still on the drawer handle and tried to breathe.

But it didn’t work.

My heart was doing something wild and stupid in my chest. I could still feel Adrian’s eyes on me from the rear-view mirror in the car. I could still feel the exact moment his thumb had brushed the corner of my mouth outside the ice-cream shop. The vanilla taste hadn’t left my tongue yet. It clung to me like a secret I didn’t know how to carry.

I pulled the drawer open again slowly. I peeped in, and the spoon looked even cheaper under the soft bedroom light. The napkin was slightly crumpled from how tightly I had held it on the drive home. His handwriting was still clear, slanted and sure.

“Next time, try something dangerous.”

I stared at it until my eyes burned.

But, just then, the memory of the twins downstairs pushed its way in without permission. Clara’s shoulder shoving into mine hard enough to make me stumble on the bottom step. The sharp flare of pain in my knee. Vivienne’s quiet laugh. The way both of them had looked at me like I was something that had stained their home just by existing in it. I could still hear Clara’s voice, sweet and poisonous.

“Watch where you’re going, stepmother.”

I pushed the memory down, it didn’t really matter right now.

Nothing mattered except the open drawer in front of me and the fact that I had brought this spoon into the same space as my wedding ring.

I slid the ring off my finger slowly.

The skin underneath was pale and soft, marked by a faint indentation from weeks of wearing it. I placed the pink spoon exactly where the ring had been sitting. Then I pushed the diamond band all the way to the back of the drawer, under a folded scarf, like something I was already ashamed of.

I couldn’t close the drawer this time. I just stood there, looking at the spoon in the place my ring should have occupied.

The house was quiet. The kind of quiet that made every small sound feel too loud. Somewhere downstairs a clock was ticking. Outside, the wind moved through the trees along the edge of the estate. My knee still ached faintly from Clara’s push. The pain felt almost welcome. It gave me something else to focus on besides the open drawer and what I had just done.

I closed my eyes and tried to force my breathing to slow down, but it didn’t help.

When I opened them again, the door was open and Adrian stood in the doorway.

He didn’t knock, he didn’t clear his throat or pretend this was an accident. He just stepped inside and shut the door behind him with a soft, final click. The sound of the lock turning seemed to echo in the quiet room.

For a long moment neither of us spoke, then, his eyes went straight to the open drawer. 

He took in the spoon sitting where my wedding ring belonged. Something dark and satisfied moved across his face, slow and unmistakable. It was the look of a man who had been waiting to see if I would keep the evidence of what had started between us.

“You kept it,” he said. His voice was low, quiet and certain. “Good.”

I took a step back. The dressing table stopped me. There was nowhere else to go.

He crossed the room in two unhurried steps. One hand braced against the wood beside the open drawer. The other came up and slid under my jaw, tilting my face up so I had no choice but to look at him.

His thumb rested against my pulse. He could feel how fast it was beating. He didn’t comment on it. He just held me there, studying my face like he was memorizing the exact moment I stopped pretending this was nothing.

"Elena?" Did he just say my name like that? No 'Aunty'? Am I not supposed to be his uncle's wife?

I should have pushed him away, I should have reminded him who I was married to, I should have said the words that would have ended this before it even started. The contract, the girls, victor, the way Clara had shoved me like I was nothing, the way Vivienne had laughed along with all the reasons this was impossible and dangerous and wrong.

But I didn’t.

Just then, his eyes dropped to my mouth. The air between us felt thin. I could smell the faint trace of the ice-cream shop still on his clothes, mixed with whatever cologne he wore. It made thinking difficult. It made everything difficult. My pulse was hammering so hard I was sure he could feel it under his thumb.

“This is a mistake,” I whispered.

“I know.” But he didn’t move back.

His hand shifted, fingers sliding into my hair, gripping just tight enough to keep me still. The other hand stayed braced beside the drawer, caging me in without quite touching anywhere else. The heat of his body reached me through the small space that remained between us. I could feel it against my chest, my stomach, the front of my thighs.

I could hear my own breathing and I could hear his.

For one long second we simply looked at each other. The silence stretched until it felt dangerous. Until it felt like the last chance either of us had to stop this.

Then Adrian pinned me against the wall and kissed me.

It wasn’t soft, it wasn’t questioning. It was slow and deliberate, like he had already decided this was happening and was simply waiting for my body to catch up. My back hit the wall. The edge of the dressing table dug into my hip. I made a small sound against his mouth and his hand tightened in my hair.

The kiss deepened.

His mouth moved against mine with a control that somehow made it much worse. Oh God!. I could taste the faint sweetness of vanilla still on his tongue. My fingers, which had been hanging uselessly at my sides, lifted and curled into the front of his shirt. I should have used them to push him away.

Instead I pulled him closer.

A low sound left his throat. By now, his body pressed fully against mine. The heat of him sank into me. My knee throbbed dully where it had hit the step earlier, but the pain was distant now. Everything was distant except the feel of his mouth and the way my heart was trying to escape my chest.

I knew I should have pushed him away. I should have reminded him that I'm his aunt, his uncle's wife. 

Instead, I grabbed his shirt and kissed him back like a shameless woman.