Shame (Secrets and Lies Book 2)

by Ainsley Booth

  I’m not sure if I’m supposed to just listen, but I agree. When she doesn’t continue, I gruffly make an agreeing noise so she knows I’m on board.

  That makes her smile more.

  “It’s so hard to explain, actually.” She snaps her fingers in the air. “Oh! Maybe…” She rolls onto her side, so we’re looking at each other. “I want you to take a quiz.”

  Do I look like someone who can be defined by the interns at Cosmopolitan? The asshole response slams into my head, onto my tongue, before I can turn off the negativity. But I stop it from slipping out, and that’s something. “Sure.”

  But she catches my hesitation. “Never mind.”

  “Grace, it’s fine.”

  “No, it’s really not. Either you want to do what it takes to fix this marriage or you don’t.”

  “I do.” That comes out immediately, no stopping it, and I exhale roughly. “Please. Tell me about this quiz.”

  “Maybe later.” She twists away and jumps up, padding barefoot toward the kitchen. “I need a drink.”

  At this rate, we’re going to be alcoholics before she likes me again. “Hey, wait.”

  She scowls at me over her shoulder. “Don’t try to stop me.”

  “Can I at least follow you?”

  She doesn’t say no, so I haul myself up and follow anyway, bringing the empty champagne bottle and flutes with me.

  She takes two glasses out of the cupboard, then points wordlessly at the liquor cabinet.

  I hand her the scotch. She holds the bottle in her hand for a minute, then sets it down, turns again—always twisting away from me, like she can’t look at me—and presses up onto her tiptoes to grab the vodka instead.

  I follow the curve of her bare arm to the black silk of her shirt, stretching against her slight breasts, and suddenly I’m hard.

  I want to fuck my wife against the kitchen counter.

  I want to drag her to the floor and make her scream.

  “What are you thinking?” she asks as she turns away from me again.

  How does she know I’m thinking anything when she won’t even look at me? “I was thinking you look really hot right now.”

  “Stop being surprised I’m attractive, Luke.”

  “I’m never—” But maybe I am. “If I have been remiss in telling you how gorgeous you are, I will rectify that.”

  She snorts. “I know I’m pretty. That’s not what I’m talking about.” She lifts her glass to her lips and tips it back, swallowing the neat vodka in three slow pulses of her throat.

  “No,” I say hoarsely. “I know.”

  She turns and looks at me for the first time since she headed for the kitchen. “Do you?”

  “You’re a fucking sex kitten, and I lost sight of that for a while.”

  She wipes an errant drop of vodka from the corner of her mouth. “Exactly.”

  “I want you so much it hurts.” My confession rips from my chest, and I gesture to the erection throbbing against the front of my dress pants. “Feel for yourself if you don’t believe me.”

  Her eyes glint dangerously. “Do you think sex will fix what’s broken between us?”

  No. “Tell me about the quiz you want me to take.”

  “Maybe another time.” She reaches for the bottle again. “One more drink before bed.”

  “What do you want tonight?”

  Her gaze falls from my face, dragging down my body. “I don’t know.”

  My cock presses obscenely against my fly, aching for more than just her doubting eyes. “Anything, baby.”

  She jerks her head up. “Don’t call me that.”

  “Okay.”

  “You called her Kitten. Capital K.”

  “I told you—”

  “You told me lies. You told me bullshit lies that maybe you also told yourself, because maybe you didn’t want to be her Master for real, capital M, but you were, at least to her. In those moments, you were.” Her voice is hard now, sharp and pointed. “And I don’t want to be a lower-case anything to you, do you get that? I want a fucking capital letter. That’s what I want.”

  She slams back another shot of vodka, then swings past me.

  My glass is still sitting on the counter, untouched.

  “You know what I did this morning, Luke?” She exhales sadly. “I went to the sexual health clinic to make sure that I don’t have any infections because you brought someone else into our marriage bed without telling me. You don’t have any right to stand in my kitchen and try to make this about sex.”

  “You brought up kink,” I point out. I’m stupid, though.

  “That’s not about sex,” she snaps. “That’s who I am. You don’t get it.”

  “Then help me understand. Because I know I’ve fucked up, but it is not true if you think that someone I…used…for my own pathetic purposes is in any way comparable to you. You’re Mine. That has a capital letter. The only one that has ever mattered to me, as much as I fucked up and lost sight of it. Nothing that I ever did with her mattered in the least. It was disposable and stupid.”

  “That’s not a name. Mine. That’s a possessive feeling, and probably misplaced.”

  “Names come in time. With trust. I haven’t earned that yet.”

  She flicks her gaze away, locking on a distant point on the ceiling. “Maybe.”

  I swallow hard. “I have names that I’ve called you, and only you. In my mind.”

  She doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe.

  My heart pounds and my palms are slick with sweat, but I push through the panic. Maybe she won’t like it. Well, she doesn’t like me much as it is, anyway. Might as well burn the house down to find out what’s in the ashes. “Baby girl. Little slut.”

  She gasps and her eyes dart toward me before she can stop herself. Her gaze is wide and bright. Shocked.

  “It’s not like I want you to call me Daddy or something,” I add desperately. “But I guess, deep down, some of that kinky shit has always been there.”

  Her face tightens. “Got it. And you played that out with her.”

  “No. It wasn’t like that. She brought up the words she liked, and I rolled with it. But it was just regular sex. God, I’m not a monster. And I swear to God—”

  She blanches. “No? Just a lying pig, then? Got it. Go away.”

  “Let’s not end tonight like this. Please.” I take a deep breath. “Look, I’m going to go, because we’ve had a lot to drink, and I don’t want to make you more mad. But what I said…please think about it. Everything you want? I want that, too. With you. Only with you. And I want to figure out more about that together.”

  The first thing I do when I wake up is look up the sexual health clinic. It opens in an hour.

  I’m waiting when they unlock the doors.

  It’s not unlike my therapy sessions. Cool, clinical assessment. I cheated on my wife. I don’t know if my other partner had multiple partners herself. I think she did. Yes, we used condoms. And then the rush of shame. No, not every time.

  When was the last time I had sex? Five weeks ago. I’ll have to come back for a repeat test in a few months.

  I nod through it all.

  “Has your wife been tested?”

  “Yes. She told me she did, so I thought…that’s why I’m here.”

  “If you have sex again in the next two months, or any time with a non-monogamous partner, you should use barrier protection.”

  Numbly, I nod and take the handout with the phone number to call for results.

  On my way back to the apartment, Grace texts.

  Grace: Can we talk?

  I text her that I’m five minutes away, and when I arrive, she’s waiting next to my door. She looks small and fragile, although it would be a mistake to ever think that about Grace.

  She’s the strongest woman I’ve ever known.

  The most beautiful.

  Too strong, too beautiful.

  How did I let this happen? Regret clogs my throat. The last thing I need to do now is fa
ll apart.

  I need to be stronger for her. I need to be a fucking machine of hope.

  “Come on in,” I say, unlocking the door.

  She follows me inside, and then gestures to the couch. “Maybe you should sit.”

  I do as I’m told.

  “I thought about not telling you this,” she says slowly. “Because…reasons. But then I realized I don’t have anything to lose here.”

  My pulse hammers heavy in my neck. No, I’m the one who has everything to lose. “You can tell me anything.”

  “Can I?” Her eyes light up, bright and mean. Except Grace is never cruel. So if she’s feeling sharp, if she’s readying for battle, it’s because I’ve hurt her.

  I turn my hands over, palms up, and lean forward, trying to show her in every part of my body language that I want to hear whatever she has to say. “Anything. If I’ve hurt you—”

  “If?”

  I sigh. “I mean specifically with regards to this important thing.”

  “It’s all specific, Luke. It’s all—” She lets out a hollow laugh. “This is a mistake.”

  “No. Tell me. Anything. Please.” I move to stand, but she flinches.

  I’m so much bigger than her. Stronger, taller, wider, and now she sees all of that as a threat.

  I sit again, agony ripping my throat out. What else can I say?

  Nothing.

  She glares at me. She might think that’s being mean, that’s hurting me, but it doesn’t. I love the heat of her gaze, the hard push against my skin. As long as she’s looking at me, hating me, I know she still loves me. Deep down, I’m hers, and she hates me for taking some of that from her, but she knows I can give it back.

  “I don’t know how much you know about kink,” she says coolly. “And now you know that I am…familiar…with that world. Only artistically, only to the research level, but I’ve read a lot. Taken classes at The Wheelhouse.”

  “You know more than me,” I admit hoarsely. “A lot more. It wasn’t…I never thought of myself as kinky. I was going along with it.”

  Her lips pull tight, and the faint smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “And now?”

  “Now what?”

  “Now are you starting to realize some of those things are deep down? Is that what you meant when you shared…what you think of me?”

  Baby girl. Little slut.

  I guess I showed my hand more than I realized. “Sure. Yeah.”

  “When you said it’s not like you want me to call you Daddy, that hurt me.” She licks her lips as a dull roar starts to churn in my ears. “The thing is, that’s one fantasy that’s always been consistently hot for me. It’s why I wanted you to take that quiz I found.”

  “The quiz is about kink?” Fuck. I clench my fists, trying hard to focus on what she’s saying. But all I can hear is her sweet little voice echoing in my head. Daddy. Fantasy. Daddy. Fantasy. “Shit, Grace, if you have a Daddy fantasy, that’s okay.”

  She flinches. “I know it’s okay.”

  “Do you?” I rise out of my chair, my heart pounding. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s fine.” It’s more than fine. Fuck. “That’s…interesting, actually. I want to know more about that.” I want to know more about you, my mysterious little wife.

  “You didn’t want to know more about me wanting to be spanked, and that’s something a lot of people do. Often people who use words like Daddy and Baby Girl.”

  “I wasn’t listening then. I’m listening now. I’m here. I’m present. Tell me.” Desperate pleas fill my brain, gag me in their need to spill out, but I can’t overwhelm her. Please, fuck, tell me. Tell me everything, and I will love it. I love you so much. I choke all of those thoughts back and wait. Listening.

  “There’s a part of me—last night, for example—that wants you to take this quiz, figure out your kink preferences, and then we could start over again. Maybe. Down the road. But there’s another part of me that is worried, deeply, that whatever you are feeling for me now is temporary. The attraction that you feel for me doesn’t feel real.” She takes a deep breath. “I told you that I know her name. I’ve looked her up online. I know she’s pretty. Younger than me, sexier than me—”

  “No.”

  “Yes.” Her voice cracks. “Because remember that I also know what it is to be the wife you don’t see. To be a woman, changing in front of her husband, knowing he couldn’t care less. When I remember those moments, I feel hopelessly unattractive. I worry that your new attraction to me is desperate and responsive, not organic. And I know you don’t like hearing that, don’t want me to say that. I can see it on your face right now, you want to protest.”

  I do. That’s not how it feels for me at all, but I can’t argue with her, either.

  And then she says the worst thing, because it’s ugly and it’s true. “Until I found out about your affair, you really struggled with how you felt about my body.”

  Fuck.

  “That was—I’ve talked to my therapist about that—” I know I should just keep quiet. “But it’s not exactly right. Think about all the good times we had. Remember when—”

  “I remember,” she says smoothly. Her eyes are deep, endless pools of sorrow. “I’m just providing some context. I know we had some good times, too.”

  “I don't like that you feel this way.” I shove my hand in my hair. “I wish I could take away those feelings.”

  “You can’t. Because me finding out about the affair, it was like a switch was flipped, and you realized that way of thinking hadn’t done you any favours.”

  “I did realize that. Yes, exactly. It was shame, and grandiosity, and—” I stop myself.

  She gives me a small smile I don’t deserve. “So you tackled that as something to fix. But you haven’t ever dealt with the fact that our marriage was built on that. That can’t be fixed or undone.”

  “I’m not going to deny the past. Maybe repair isn’t the right objective. Maybe we should try to start over. And now isn’t the time. I went to the sexual health clinic today. After you said that last night, when I woke up, I looked into it, and went as soon as they opened. They told me I should be tested again in a few months. So let’s wait that long. I’ll be celibate for as long as it takes, to prove to you I’m serious about this.”

  “And why should I be celibate that long?” She crosses her arms.

  It’s the second time she’s brought up dating.

  And with a newfound horror, I realize what I need to do to win my wife back. I need to truly let her go.

  21

  Grace

  To his credit, Luke stops interrupting me, and listens to everything I have to say. We don’t fight, we just talk, and when I leave his apartment, he says he needs some time to think, and he wants to come over for tea later this afternoon.

  After I leave his apartment, I go to the gallery because it makes me happy. I walk, because it’s a glorious day, sunny and bright, and on the return walk home, I call Hazel.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi Hazel, it’s Grace.”

  “Oh, hey.” She murmurs my name. “Sam says hi.”

  I laugh. “I wanted to follow up on last night. I really would like to get coffee. How long are you in the city?”

  “A few days. How does tomorrow sound?”

  “Like a date. I’ll come to you.”

  We set a time, and I end the call just before letting myself into my building.

  What an absolutely lovely, normal afternoon. It feels like I’ve finally exhaled, after holding my breath for weeks. I’ve said everything I need to say to Luke, I’m back on track with work, and my life can begin moving forward again.

  Upstairs, I put the kettle on and text Luke that I’m home whenever he wants to chat again.

  At this rate, I might not even need therapy for myself. We’re actually figuring out a way through this. Maybe we’ll be amicably divorced by the summer.

  It’s a strange thought. Makes me feel a little empty, and I’m still contemplating that wh
en his knock sounds at the door.

  I let him in, and this is immediately a different man than I left in his apartment this morning. He’s done something, I can tell. “What’s going on?”

  “Now it’s your turn to sit,” he says grimly.

  “You’re scaring me.” The kettle whistles, and I hold up a finger. “Wait a second.”

  I pour water into the teapot, then leave it. Something tells me I don’t need to entertain him right now. I stalk back into the living room and curl up on the armchair, because he’s sitting on the couch. “What is it?”

  “Everything you said this morning…I heard all of it. I don’t want you to live with any kind of doubt, and I need to fully own the damage I have done. The truth is, I collapsed in on myself just as much as our firm did. In a time of acute crisis, I failed to do the right thing on every level. Looking back, I see that I just abdicated my responsibility to this marriage. To you. I won’t make the same mistake again.”

  There’s a real resignation to his voice, and it alarms me, even though he’s saying everything I want to hear. “What are you doing?”

  “The right thing, no matter how much I hate it.” He hands over a printed piece of paper. “I’ve written something I want you to read.”

  I reach out and take it.

  I have to read it twice to understand what it is saying.

  To Whom It May Concern, So Long As You Are a Better Person Than I Am;

  I want you to date my wife. See, the thing is, I cheated on her. Like a lot of cheating spouses, I don’t have any good reasons why I did it. Sex, escape, adrenaline.

  But I didn’t do it out of any sense of romance or love. Those, as pathetic as it sounds, are reserved for my wife, and she doesn’t want them from me right now.

  So I think you should give it a go.

  Know that I will always want her. Know that I will always love her. But I think she deserves a chance at a selfless love that doesn’t ask as much as my love asks.