The Lies We Call Love
“Fine,” I heard myself say, the word tasting like rust. “You want an open marriage? We’ll do open.”
A slow smile curved his mouth—victory, not warmth. “Good girl. Then I suppose you won’t mind if I reintroduce Kisha.”
The camera panned. There she was, curled on what I now realized was our hotel suite couch, her legs tucked under a cashmere throw that used to be mine. She waved, manicured nails glinting, belly softly rounded under a silk camisole.
My world tilted.
I forced a smile that felt like glass. “So she’s your girlfriend?”
Daniel’s hand settled possessively on that gentle swell. “Not just my girlfriend,” he said, eyes locked on min
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