Page 40 of Make Believe

Before I can overthink it, I throw my leg over him and dig my fingers into his skin, clinging to him like a life raft. “I’m sorry, too.”

I don’t know how long we lie there, but eventually, Rafferty lets me go. Without saying a word, he takes me to his en suite, another room I hadn’t seen before now. He strips us down and we shower tenderly. Still without talking, he dries us off and wraps us in the fluffy robes he seems to have spare in every bathroom. We walk down the corridor, heading for my room.

I expect him to put me to bed. Instead, he sits me on the toilet seat of my own bathroom and perches himself on the side of the bath. Then he narrows his eyes at my many jars and tubes I have lined up under the mirror.

He wants to help me with my nighttime regime.

Wordlessly—and ignoring the lump in my throat—I point at the one I need first, the make-up remover. What follows next is a sort of charming, clumsy, but affectionate face painting session. He doesn’t stop until my skin is plump and glowing.

Then he does finally lead me to the bed, retrieving my nightie from under my pillow. He pushes my robe down my shoulders, letting it pool on the floor, then pulls the negligee over my head.

He strips the duvet back so I can climb between the sheets before tucking me in and stroking my hair back.

“Good night, my beautiful doll,” he says warmly.

“Good night, Daddy,” I whisper back.

When he closes the door and I’m left in the dark, the floodgates open. I’m not sure why I’m sobbing so hard, but I don’t fight it. I just let every sad, lonely, nasty thing I’ve been bottling up break free until I’ve got nothing left.

Luckily, there’s a box of tissues on my nightstand, so I can clean myself up. I take deep, shuddery breaths, then a long drink of water from the glass Rafferty always makes sure is there.

I’m exhausted, and my brain feels like mashed potatoes. Good. I’ve done more than enough thinking today. Tomorrow I can start all over and reassess what a complete cluster-fuck this situation probably is. Right now, I just need sleep, and lots of it.

Plenty of time to screw everything up again in the morning.

CHAPTER 16

Rafferty

It was perhaps tooearly to put Kadence to bed, but I know how exhausted I am and figure it would do us both good to have some space for the night.

I take some time clearing the dining room table. We didn’t eat as much as I would have liked—especially Kadence—so I’ll be sure and make up for that in the morning. I’d been easing off the big breakfasts as we settled into a more regular routine, but tomorrow I feel like I might make us omelets and sausages.

For now, though, I scrape the plates clean and load the dishwasher. Then I pour myself a measure of whiskey and go to sit out in the quiet nighttime of the patio.

So much for this being a simple sex-fueled affair. I should have known better. But I’ve never tried to pursue anything longer than one night with anyone since I got married. I foolishly thought I had this under control.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

God, I’m such a fucking cliché. Is this a mid-life crisis? Is that what’s happening right now? I’m risking my marriage and my business for a young man—aman—I only met less than two weeks ago?

There are some hard facts I need to face, though. And funnily enough, I’m starting to see they don’t necessarily involve Kadence, even if he’s inspiring me right now.

This sham with Charleen has to end. I don’t know if I want to come out—and I’m certainly not thinking of committing to anything with Kadence. But being with him has really shown me how trapped and unhappy I am. I’d rather be divorced and free to fuck any tasty minx I want than continue lying like we are.

And as for my company…trust my spicy little doll to say what no one on my board has had the guts to. I have dropped the ball when it comes to Paddle Creek. I’ve been listless, drifting. Sticking to a plan I made over a decade ago and now trying to abandon ship rather than fix all the damage I’ve caused.

When was the last time I truly built anything? I make investments all the time, but I’ve gotten so used to delegating all the details. I saw Paddle Creek as an easy coup—I wanted to sweep in and buy it out from under people’s noses so I could reimagine it in my own image and make something bigger and better than Albertson.

All I’ve done is let people down. Stifled them. Choked them.

Perhaps it would be easier to sell it on to someone who could start over. But I’m beginning to feel quite strongly that this is my mess, and I need to fix it. That actually the idea of doing a one-eighty excites me.

I can invest capital from other ventures. I don’t need to sell off the real estate I own at a premium, especially as Kadence is right. The town does have a reputation as being down on its luck. Why am I waiting to raze it all to the ground when I could just be expanding on what’s already there?

We don’t need another Albertson to appeal to straight, white, married couples with kids. Paddle Creek is exactly what it always has been and what it always should be. Eccentric. Bold. Audacious. It should be a queer haven and a tourist attraction.

In other words, exactly the kind of low-brow investment my board is going to hate.

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