A proper date with my husband. 

Cassie's POV

It's been four days since I last saw Mark. And somehow the house breathes differently without him in it. Easier, I tell myself. Lighter, less dangerous. I repeat the words every morning like they might eventually feel true.

They don't.

The silence he leaves behind is not peaceful. It is the particular quiet of a thing held at a distance by force. My body knows he's gone and does not forgive me for it.

I throw myself into routines. From morning coffee to emails. Long showers that do nothing to calm me. I catch myself standing at the kitchen counter where he caged me against it and I walk away fast, like the memory has edges.

Then on the fifth day David comes downstairs with a different kind of energy, restless and repentant in the way men get when they know they've fallen short.

"Come out with me today," he says.

I look up from my cup.

"Just us." He leans against the counter. "It's for the whole day. No calls, no meetings. I mean it this time."

I feel a pang of hope stir. I hate how quickly it rises, how little it takes. "You mean it?"

"I mean it."

I take longer than necessary choosing my dress. I choose Emerald this time, fitted at the waist, heels that make me feel like myself, like the wife of David Jeffson. David watches me come down the stairs and beams with a smile, a smile that would have made my chest ache years back. 

But somehow it feels like something beginning again.

Julian pulls the car around and we head into the city with the windows slightly down, David's hand resting near my knee and I can't help but count that as progress.

"I'll just stop by the office," he says twenty minutes in. "Five minutes. I need to collect a file."

I smile awkwardly. This was infact the perfect definition of No calls, no meetings only us. "Of course."

The branch office is a glass building downtown, all clean lines and quiet authority. A receptionist greets David by name and straightens when she sees me beside him. We take the elevator up.

Outside David's secondary office is a pretty, young girl in her early twenties, she wears a blouse that draws all the lines of her large bulging tits. Her name plate reads Seraphine. She rises when she sees David, the movement a bit too edgy for secretary-boss relationship. However, I shove it away.

"Mr. Jeffson." Her voice is softy inviting while she rakes her eyes at him. "I have the Henderson file ready."

"Thank you." David takes it smiling at her. 

She turns to me next and her expression turns cold. Then she smiles, it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Mrs. Jeffson. Welcome."

"Thank you," I say.

She genuflects. “How was your wedding. I sincerely believe you're enjoying your after wedding.” 

“Yes, I do dear.” 

***

Dinner is at a rooftop restaurant with warm yellow lighting and a view of the city that softens everything. David orders wine and actually puts his phone face-down on the table and I think maybe. Maybe this is the turn. Maybe this is where we find our way back.

I lean across the table and touch his hand while he melts into it. 

I try to flirt and he smiles back but it doesn't travel past his mouth. I lean closer and press my lips softly to his jaw. He chuckles before slowly pulling out his face. 

“David?!” I blurt out in pure frustration.

“Honey, can we get past the dessert?” He reaches to hold my hand. 

I nod because how else can I hide the ache in my chest. The knowledge of what want actually feels like now. What it feels like when someone looks at you like you are the only thing worth looking at. What it feels like to be held down and chosen.

Mark has ruined me. He ruined me with his hands and his voice and his absolute certainty, and now I am sitting across from my husband, dressed beautifully, trying and failing to want what I'm supposed to want.

As if the universe wants me to be so unlucky his phone brightens on the table. He takes a quick glance before meeting my face. "I'm so sorry love.”

I open my mouth but he's already reaching for his jacket. "It's the Singapore deal. I have to take this."

"David—"

"Julian will take you home. I'll follow as soon as I can." He squeezes my hand once before disappearing. 

I sit alone at the table wondering where I'd gone wrong. What I'd done to deserve this. I press my fingers together in my lap and tell myself the burning behind my eyes is just tiredness.

When we get home Julian opens the door and I try hard to suppress the tears clouding. 

“Mrs. Jefferson.”

“I'm alright.” I cut him off with a smile. Looking ahead, a motorcycle stood parked at the entrance.

My pulse moves before my mind does. Heat floods through my chest, my stomach, and even lower. I press my hand to my collarbone as if I can slow it down.

It had better not be who I think it is. He can't see me this way. The front door is unlocked, and I push it open slowly. The living room is lit by a single lamp, casting a warm, low glow. Standing near the window with his back slightly turned, jacket off, and arms loose at his sides, is someone who looks identical to the man who left me minutes ago. Except he's nothing like him.

“Mark.”

He turns when he hears my voice. His eyes move over me once, taking in everything. From the way his gaze lingers, I wonder if my expression betrays the traces of a night that went nowhere.

I close my eyes, cursing under my breath. Why does my body never ask for permission? It always simply responds.

My feet tremble as he moves closer in quick, careful strides, like a god in fine armor. His cologne makes my stomach flip. Within seconds, he is no longer across the room but standing majestically right before me.

“Mar...rk,” my lips quiver. His strong hands tilt my chin upward, sending a surge of fire straight through me to my thighs. I can hardly breathe. Not with his eyes piercing through me like that.

I open my mouth. His delicate fingers brush against the curve of my lips, and I tremble at the way my mouth parts for his touch.

“Mark,” I choke out finally, my eyes betraying the endless rounds of pleas about to fall from my tongue.

“Use your words.”

“Please—” His hands trail down to my sides as the intensity of his gaze deepens. In his eyes, I see danger, want, and obsession. He tilts his head, waiting for my response. I bite my lip as the words finally spill out.

“Please fuck me.”