Part 3The Pretender Loved Me More

After I had changed into a dry dress, I accidentally overheard Preston and Grant talking in the hallway.

Preston’s face was stormy. “Grant, you’ve never been interested in women. Why are you reacting to June?”

Grant lit a cigarette, taking a long drag before replying. “I’m a man, Preston, not a saint. When a beautiful woman is pressed against you, constantly touching you, you react.”

Preston looked physically ill, unable to process the idea. “But June is cold! She would never… Grant, you have to promise me, no matter what, you absolutely cannot touch June! She’s still my wife, no matter how much we ‘play’ with the setup.”

“You still remember she’s your wife?” Grant exhaled a plume of smoke, a mocking edge to his lips. “You’ve spent two years with your Holy Grail, Preston. Have you cared about your wife for a single day?”

Preston fell silent.

Grant chuckled, a cynical, dismissive sound. “If you love Geneva so much, just divorce June already.”

“I can’t!” Preston’s denial was frantic. “June and I grew up together. I have feelings for her… but I spent years pursuing Geneva. She finally accepted me. I can’t let her go, either.”

“God,” Grant muttered, stamping out the cigarette. “You’re a joke, Preston.”

I didn't need to hear any more. I turned and walked away.

Preston, you want to keep your idealized woman and your convenient wife. You want everything. But life doesn't work that way.

…

The party eventually ended, and Preston drove me home. Just as we arrived, I saw Grant waiting by the front door.

Preston handed me over to Grant without a single backward glance, speeding off immediately.

Once inside, I went straight to the master bath.

A few minutes later, I called out, my voice laced with theatrical panic. “Honey! I slipped! I think I twisted my shoulder. Can you bring the ointment in and help me?”

The door clicked open immediately. Grant walked in, holding a tube of muscle rub.

I was wrapped loosely in a towel, my hair half-wet, water still clinging to my skin.

Grant stared for two seconds, then awkwardly averted his gaze, busying himself with squeezing the cream onto his palm.

I let out a small, dramatic gasp, pretending to lose my footing, and “plunged” directly into his arms.

The towel fell to the floor, pooling at my feet.

Two warm bodies met, skin to skin.

Grant’s ears went crimson. He tried to push me away, his voice strangled. “June, wait. We can’t…”

I cut him off, pressing my mouth fiercely against his.

Grant froze for a moment. Then, with a sound that was half-growl, he abandoned all pretense, wrapping his arms around me and returning the kiss with desperate, hungry heat.

In the brief moments we pulled apart for air, I reached down and fumbled for the belt buckle on his trousers, my voice low and husky. “We’ve been married so long, darling… maybe it’s time we finally had a baby.”

Grant’s throat bobbed. His voice was thick and raw. “…Yes. Whatever you want, June.”

He scooped me up and carried me into the bedroom.

Just as he laid me down, his phone rang again.

Grant looked at the screen and immediately hit "Ignore."

“Aren’t you going to answer that?” I whispered.

He swallowed the rest of my words with another demanding kiss.

From that afternoon until deep into the night, Grant was not the restrained, icy man I had known. He was a starved wolf who had finally tasted meat. He was relentless, insatiable.

I fell asleep, utterly exhausted.

Sometime in the pre-dawn hours, I vaguely heard Grant answer the phone, his voice a low murmur.

“I know.”

“No, I won't touch her.”

“You don't trust me? Then don't.”

“Take an oath? I don't believe in superstition.”

He hung up. Grant leaned down, his voice barely audible as he spoke into my ear. “June, why did you only ever love him?”

I want to tell you I don’t love him anymore. But I was too tired, too drained, and drifted back to sleep.