You Know I Love You: Book 1, You Know Me duet (You Are Mine 3)

by Willow Winters

  I shouldn’t be drunk, not when I’m supposed to be preparing to meet with a potential client tomorrow. As one of the top literary agents in New York City, I’m damn good at what I do but tonight, I don’t care.

  I shouldn’t have closed my laptop and logged off all social media when I have promotions and advertisements running around the clock for these launches.

  I shouldn’t be doing a lot of things.

  But here I am, sitting at the head of the dining room table, and I refuse to do anything but watch the stairs and wait for him to leave. The very thought of staring at his back as the front door closes forces me to reach for the bottle.

  I listen carefully as I pour the last of the wine into my glass. He’s packing at the last minute, like he always does, but this time it’s so much different. He’s traveling for work, but when he leaves from his rendezvous in London, he’s not coming back here. That sudden realization brings a fresh flood of unshed tears to burn my eyes, but I remain very still. As if maybe playing dead will hold back these emotions.

  “He better not,” I mutter beneath my breath, holding on to my resolve.

  I lift the glass to my lips, the dark cabernet tasting sweeter and sweeter with each sip, lulling me into a lethargy where the memory of yesterday fades.

  Where the article doesn’t exist. Where the denial of an affair can fall on deaf ears. The picture itself was innocent. But Evan doesn’t have a single explanation for me. He can’t make clear to me why he’s lying, why he’s stumbling over his words to come up with a justification.

  What hurts the most is the look in his eyes when he lies to me. The paparazzi photo is of him with his boss’s wife Samantha, who just so happens to be in the middle of a vicious divorce. He was with her at 3:00 in the morning in her hotel lobby. Three fucking a.m. Nothing good happens past 2:00 a.m. He used to make that joke all the time when we first met. I used to laugh with him when he said it.

  There’s only one explanation for that photograph and both of us know it. Even though he can’t come up with a plausible excuse, he still denies it. It’s a slap in my face. I’m done pretending like I can forgive him for this. If he can’t give me his truth, I’m left with my own, which is that my husband is not the man I fell in love with. Or at the very least, his decisions aren’t ones I can live with.

  I suck in a long, deep breath, pushing my phone away as it beeps again with a message from a friend and I lean back in my chair. I don’t want to read it. With the palms of my hands, I cover my eyes, suddenly feeling hot. Too hot.

  They keep asking me the same things, but with different words.

  Maddie: Are you all right?

  Julia: Is it true? It can’t be true.

  Suzette: So you went through with it? Is there anything I can do?

  Messages from my friends have been hitting my phone one by one, each of them making it vibrate on the table throughout the day.

  It takes everything in me to face them, as if they were really here in person asking me all these questions. I don’t have answers to give them, none that I want to say out loud anyway. I’m not pushing away my husband because I want to. I’m doing it because I have to and I don’t have the resolve to speak that confession.

  Even I’m disappointed in myself.

  My friends want what’s best for me. They only want to help me and I know that’s the truth, but it doesn’t keep me from being angry at the phone as it goes off again.

  Heaving in a deep breath, I wish I wasn’t in the big city. I wish I wasn’t well known. I wish I could hide under the guise of anonymity and just be no one. More importantly, I wish no one knew. I’d crawl back to him if that were the case. I’d beg him to hold me every time I cried, even if he’s the one who brought out this side of me.

  I’d beg him to love me. He would, I know it. And then I’d hate myself.

  You deserve better than this. Another message from Suzette comes through next and I can only run the pad of my thumb down the screen over her words. It’s an attempt to make myself believe it.

  Just leave me alone. Everyone get out of my life, my marriage. It wasn’t for them to see. It’s not for them to judge like every fucking gossip column in New York City. It’s not the first time our marriage has been mentioned in the papers, but I pray it’ll be the last.

  My knuckles turn white as I grip the phone with the intent of throwing it, letting it smack against the wall to silence it, but I don’t. It’s the sound of Evan’s boots rhythmically hitting each step as he walks down the stairs that forces me to compose myself. At the very least I pretend to; he’s always seen through it, though. He knows how much this kills me.

  I hit the button to turn off my phone and ignore the texts and calls, squaring my shoulders as I attempt to pull myself together.

  I haven’t answered a single message or email since this morning when Page Six came out with an article about our separation. It’s funny how I only uttered the words two nights ago, yet it was already circulating gossip columns before the weekend hit, blasted all over social media. I wonder if he wanted this. If that was Evan’s way of finally pushing his workaholic wife to the brink of divorce.

  My gaze morphs into a glare as he comes into view, but it doesn’t stay long. My skin is suddenly feeling hotter, but in a way that’s joined with desire. I can’t help but to imagine how his rough stubble would feel against my palm as I caressed his cheek, how his lips would taste as he leaned down to kiss me. A very large part of me wants to savor it. Our last goodbye kiss. It’s funny how the goodbye kisses are the ones I value most, but I won’t let him kiss me before he leaves this time. Not when the last things that came from his lips were lies.

  My deep inhales are silent, although the heavy rise and fall of my chest betrays me. If he notices, he doesn’t let on as he places his luggage by the front door. My own hands turn numb watching his.

  Even if he is only wearing a pair of faded jeans and a plain white T-shirt, he’s still devilishly handsome. It’s his muscular physique and tanned, tattooed skin that let you know he’s a classic bad boy regardless of what he’s wearing. My heart beats slower as the seconds pass between us; it’s calming just to look at him. That’s how he got me in the beginning. The desire and attraction are undeniable despite what he’s done.

  He’s the first to break our gaze as he runs his fingers through his dark brown hair and lets out an uneasy sigh. In response my lips curl into a sarcastic smile, mocking both me and my thoughts. I’m not the only one to fall for his charm and allure, but I should have learned my lesson by now. My fingers slip down the thin stem of the wineglass as I smile weakly and force back the sting in my eyes, pretending I’m not going to cry, pretending that I’ve made my decision final. Like I don’t already regret it.

  “I have to go,” Evan states after a moment of uncomfortable silence, apart from the constant background hum of traffic.

  My blood rushes and I try to swallow the lump in my throat. I focus on the wine, the dark red liquid pooling in the base of the glass. I try to swirl it, but it doesn’t move; there’s so little left.

  “Is she going to be there?” I ask him, staring straight ahead at a black and white photo of the two of us taken years ago on vacation in Mexico.

  Why? Why even bother? Why did I let it slip out? I’d planned to just say goodbye. Just end this suffering already.

  As he answers, I continue to stare at the genuine smile on my face and then to where his arm is wrapped possessively around my waist in the photograph.

  I hate that I asked. It’s my insecurity, my hate. My envy even.

  “No, she’s not. And I already told you it doesn’t matter.” Any trace of a smile or even of disinterest leaves me. I can’t hide what it does to me, what his lie has done to me.

  It doesn’t matter. Let it go. They’re all nonanswers. They’re words to hide the truth and we both know it.

  My elbow is planted on the table as I rest my chin in my hand and try to cover up how much it hurts. To keep it from him j
ust like he’s keeping the truth from me, even if I sniff a little too loud. I speak low as I stare straight ahead at nothing in particular. “You told me it’s not true, but you didn’t deny it to the press,” I tell him and finally look him in the eye. “You didn’t deny it to anyone but me, and I know you’re lying.” My words crack at the end and I have to tear my gaze away. “It’s been different since you came home.” My last statement is drawn out and practically a whisper. It’s been difficult between us over the past year, but the last two weeks … The tension between us changed the second he came home. I knew something bad had happened. I knew it.

  Everyone told me to be careful and warned me about Evan six years ago when I first started seeing him. I knew what I was doing when I first said yes to a date with him, when I gave myself to him and let myself fall for someone like him. I’m a fool.

  “I told you, Kat, it’s not what it looks like,” he says and his voice is soft, like he’s afraid to say the words louder.

  “Then why not tell them?” I ask, staring into his pleading expression. “Why let the world believe you’ve cheated on me? What could you possibly gain?” Each question gets louder as the words rush out of my mouth. I’m ashamed of how much passion there is in my voice. How much of my pain is on display.

  In stark contrast is how little pain he shows and I don’t miss how he hasn’t budged. He hasn’t made a single move to come to me. So I stay planted in my seat as well.

  I know why he doesn’t deny it, and it’s because it’s true. Years of just the two of us have shown me who he is and I know he’s not a liar, but he’s lying to me now. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. “It’s been weeks, hasn’t it?” I say, forcing out the words from between clenched teeth. This morning I couldn’t talk without screaming. Without slamming my fists into the table, making it shake and causing a glass of water to fall and shatter on the hardwood floors.

  I reached my breaking point when he looked me in the eye and told me there was nothing to that picture. I refuse to listen when he lies; not when he does such a horrible job of it.

  “Stop it, Kat,” Evan commands firmly and his voice is harsh and unforgiving, like I’m the one in the wrong.

  “Oh, I see,” I respond, raising a brow and feeling a sick smile tug at my lips. “You can cheat, you can lie, but I should be quiet and give you a kiss on the way out to go do whatever you want to do?”

  “Don’t do this,” he says with a rawness that makes my heart clench.

  “Then tell me what happened. I know something did.” He’s been distant, even cold toward me ever since he came home.

  A moment passes and I lose my composure again, bared to him in every way as I wait for an answer. But I don’t get the one thing I need. The truth. Or a believable lie.

  “I have to go,” is all he says as he gathers his luggage. Slinging a black duffle bag over one shoulder, gripping a suitcase with his other hand, he adds, “I love you.”

  He says the words without looking at me.

  I love you.

  It hurts so damn much because he knows I love him. He knows it and he throws the words back at me like it doesn’t matter that he’s risking it all.

  “If you won’t tell me the truth,” I say lowly as I stare at the table, pushing out the words and feeling each one slice open the cut in my heart that much deeper, “then don’t bother coming back.” My throat tightens and my lungs refuse to fill as silence is all that answers me.

  There’s only a slight hesitation, a small creaking sound as he adjusts his grip on the luggage. That’s all I get. That’s it. The creak of the floorboards that’s barely heard over my racing heart.

  He leaves without attempting to kiss me or approaching me in the least. His strides don’t break in cadence until the heavy walnut front door opens and closes, leaving me with nothing but the tortured sob that’s desperate to come up and the faint sounds of the city life filling the empty space once again.

  My hands tremble as I close my eyes and try to calm down.

  If he really loved me, he wouldn’t have let it come to this.

  If he loved me, he’d tell me the truth.

  Secrets break up marriages.

  I keep telling myself that he’s to blame, but as a cry rips up my throat and I bring my knees into my chest, my heels resting on the seat of the chair, I replay the last few years and I know I’m at fault too. Deep down, I know. I bury my face in my knees and rock slightly, feeling pathetic as I break down yet again.

  If I were him, I’d have cheated on me too.

  He says he didn’t. He swears it’s a lie.

  But he doesn’t explain it. He can’t even look me in the eye.

  I did this to myself. I should’ve known better.

  Evan

  When did I turn into the piece of shit I am right now?

  Pathetic. That’s how I feel as the plane rumbles beneath my feet and I shake my head slightly, waving off the flight attendant and whatever small bag of snacks she was offering.

  I crack my neck to the left and right as a ding indicates the seat belt sign is off and everyone can move about the cabin. I have no intention of getting up or doing a damn thing other than sit here and try to figure out exactly where it all went wrong.

  The Wi-Fi is available and I take my time setting it up, prolonging the moment when I’ll have to face the fact that she most likely hasn’t messaged me. She can yell at me, hit me, take it all out on me, but her silence is what kills me. Her shutting me out is like a knife to the heart.

  There’s no way to make it right, but I’m not letting her go.

  Kat’s mine. My wife. My love. She’s everything to me, even if she hates me to the point where I’m nothing to her.

  We used to be … Something special. Something other assholes dream about and pray for. And now? I couldn’t even kiss her before leaving. The very thought of doing it felt too much like goodbye. Like the kind of goodbye that would kill me.

  She’s kidding herself if she thinks I’m not coming home to her. I don’t care that we’re going through this, I don’t care how bad our fighting is or that I fucked up beyond repair. She doesn’t know what happened and I hope she never will, but that doesn’t change the fact that she’s mine. Above all else, that I love her and she loves me. She can’t deny that.

  My seat groans as I readjust in first class. I clear my throat and clench my teeth as the plane rumbles again, reminding me that she’s miles and miles away. Reminding me that I left her again.

  I can’t bring myself to feel like I deserve her forgiveness. Or that I deserve her at all. That’s always been the case between us. She’s always been too good for me. The guilt is all-consuming and now I’m trapped in a corner, desperately looking for a way out of the mess I’ve gotten myself into.

  My computer pings as the plane continues to fly across the ocean taking me farther away from her, and I lean forward to check it. I’m far too quick to do it too, praying it’s Kat.

  Praying’s never helped me before and sure enough, it didn’t this time either. It’s only a message from James, my boss and Samantha’s now ex.

  My teeth grind against one another, making my jaw even more tense as I read the message. It’s the schedule for the rest of the day and my room number for the hotel.

  It feels like a slap in the face. I can’t keep up this façade and live each day as if nothing’s happened. Pretending like nothing’s changed.

  The back of my head pushes into the seat as I take a calming breath.

  Stuck between a rock and a hard place is an inadequate saying.

  I’m fucked. Just waiting for them to pick, pick, pick away at me while I have my hands tied behind my back.

  Only years ago, I loved my life. It was a high most would be envious of. This is what I wanted more than anything. On the outside, it’s glamorous. I stay at five-star resorts, party with celebrities and have every sinful pleasure at my fingertips. That’s what a life of helping the rich and famous avoid prison has aff
orded me.

  I protect the clients from any bad press, keep charges from sticking, and avoid any altercations that could lead to something … unwanted. In return, I’m paid generously and live the high life.

  I didn’t sign up for this, but I sure as fuck cashed every check along the way. My email beeps and it’s another message from James, as if confirming that exact thought: this is exactly what I signed up for. It’s what I asked for.

  Let me know when you land. That’s all the email says.

  I clear my throat as my hand clenches into a fist and I run the rough pad of my thumb over my knuckles slowly. My reflection in the screen stares back at me and I note the scowl, the dark circles under my eyes. The anger.

  When I was younger, this was all I wanted. I get paid to party and live in a perpetual state of drunkenness. I lived for the thrill.

  Kat used to love it too. Years ago, when we first met and things were different. I glance at the empty seat to my left and picture her sitting beside me. She used to play with the buckle on every flight. Unbuckle, buckle, unbuckle, buckle. At first I thought it was a nervous habit that had to do with a fear of flying, but it was just due to the excitement.

  She loved coming with me to events. It was what we did together. Back when everything was the way it was supposed to be.

  Back when life was less complicated.

  Back when we were kids and I didn’t realize that life was going to catch up to me and her career was going to take off, placing us on two very different paths in life.

  A huff of a sigh leaves me as I shift in my seat and look back to my computer.

  I click over to the flight tab and see there are four hours remaining until we land in London. Four hours to sit in silence and dwell on each and every moment where I fucked up. Every step I took that led me to this very hour.

  I turned thirty-two just four months ago, but I’m living the same life I had when we were in our twenties.

  She’s the one who changed.

  She grew up and I’m the one who screwed up.