บททั้งหมดของ SHE WAS NEVER HIS MISTRESS : บทที่ 31 - บทที่ 40

ARIA'S POVI hadn't used the word boyfriend yet.Seeing someone. That was the phrase I have been using, which Jordan had pointed out twice like she found it both understandable and slightly ridiculous. I knew what Dominic and I were but I just wasn't ready to say it in a word that felt that permanent.He hadn't pushed the terminology. That was one of the things about him.We went to Jordan’s house on a Saturday night. She'd cooked too much food on purpose and Ryan had opened wine before anyone sat down, which meant it was going to be that kind of dinner. Easy and Loud. The good kind of loud.Maya and Zoe took one look at Dominic and decided he was interesting.Zoe handed him a toy horse within three minutes of meeting him. Not as a gift. As a test. He took it seriously, asked the horse's name, was told something that sounded like Biscuit, and spent the next ten minutes having a conversation with Biscuit that Zoe supervised.Maya, the more skeptical twin, watched this from a distance. T

ARIA'S POVMy heels came off the second I closed my apartment door.I dropped them right there at the door and didn't bother picking them up, I just stood on the cold floor in my bare feet and took deep breaths for a minute.I'd made it through. Smiled at the right moments, said the right things to the right people, let Dominic put me in a cab with his hand warm at my back and his voice quiet in my ear saying you were perfect tonight. I'd held it together for the entire cab ride home.Now I sat down on the floor of my own hallway in a two hundred dollar dress and put my back against the wall.My whole body was still tense. That specific tension that lives in your jaw, your shoulders and the back of your throat when you've been managing something in public and your body knows before you do how much it costs.I hadn't expected him to be there.That was the thing I kept landing on. Portland wasn't New York. It wasn't a city where you could disappear. I'd run the numbers in my head after t

ARIA'S POVI wore real clothes to sign my divorce papers.Not black or celebratory. Just the blazer and the ankle boots I saved for days that required me to feel like myself. The kind of outfit you put on when you need your outside to hold your inside together.Jordan had offered to come with me three times. I said no to all three. This part was mine to do alone. I couldn't explain that in a way that didn't sound like something it wasn't, so I just said it and Jordan, who knew me well enough by now, let it stand.I arrived at Sarah's office at nine in the morning. A paralegal brought water I didn't drink. Sarah walked me through the paperwork with the calmness of someone who had done this a thousand times. But well of course she has done this a thousand times. She is a divorce lawyer. She understood that what I needed was efficiency, not tenderness.She handed me three forms.I picked up the pen and for a second, I had a flash I didn't ask for, I remembered signing our marriage certifi

ARIA'S POVI didn't mean to stay.We'd fallen asleep on his couch somewhere after midnight, the movie we were watching finished a long time ago, my head finding the space between his shoulder and his chest. I woke up at 2 AM to the city quiet outside the windows and his arm heavy and warm around me. The choice was right there in front of me and I chose to stay.In the morning I woke up to the smell of coffee.He was already in the kitchen, barefoot, in yesterday's shirt, doing nothing more remarkable than grinding beans and finding mugs. The penthouse in early light looked different from the night version. Softer. The books are still everywhere, the blanket we'd pulled off the back of the couch now draped over the armchair. The city outside is pale and just starting.He looked over when he heard me."Morning Beautiful," he said. "Morning." I smiled. He handed me a mug when I reached the kitchen. The coffee was strong and exactly right and I stood at the counter in my wrinkled clothes

Aria’s POVThe key turned in the lock before I even knocked. Dominic opened the door wearing an old black T-shirt and sweatpants, his hair still damp from a shower. He smiled and stepped aside to let me in.I kicked off my boots by the door, dropped my bag, and headed straight for the bathroom. The day’s paint had dried in thin streaks across my knuckles. I ran cold water over my hands, watched the color thin and swirl down the drain, then paused. A faint smear still clung to the inside of my wrist. I dried my hands without scrubbing it off.When I came out he was already pulling foil containers from the microwave. Chicken curry and rice. He slid one across the counter for me without asking if I wanted to eat. But I was famished. We stood there eating straight from the containers, shoulders brushing, the kitchen light too bright and the rest of the apartment dark.He was quieter than he’d been all week. Not the sharp, clipped quiet he used when he was pissed. This was heavier. I set m