Page 73 of Love Her

“I wouldn’t know, I was trying to miss it,” I lied, turning toward her, running a hand up and down her side. “But—how did?—”

“I’m still in Manhattan, Rhaim. I’m not on another planet,” she said, giving me a sad half-smile. “Even if it feels like I am.”

“Not for much longer,” I said, bringing her closer hand to my lips to kiss it. “I promise.”

“Good.”

“Is…that why you were here though?” I asked. Because she shouldn’t have beennearCorvo today, otherwise.

Her half-smile fell into a full-frown. “I just wanted to talk to my father. But then I got here and realized there was yet another thing I was cut out of and….”

I’d as much as promised not to pry into her stairwell interlude when she was on my couch—but it was hard.

“Not for too much longer now, though,” I said, sitting up. “You ready?”

“Not really,” she said, but she also sat up.

I pulled her into one of my high back leather chairs before turning on the light—which is where I got to see exactly what I’d done to her. The glass had left a rash across her breasts, and there were handprints on her thighs. She saw these too and made an impressed sound. “It’s a good thing pre-nups don’t count for marriages you don’t intend to consummate. Although—you cut the dresses I can wear to my father’s birthday part in half, right here,” she said, pointing out one of the rash’s peaks. “But about that—Rhaim—” she started, before looking down. “My. Boots.”

She’d kept the boots she’d had on earlier in the day, and hadn’t taken them off when we started fucking—which meant that their tops had been ground down by my office’s low berber carpeting.

“Were they your favorite?” I asked, shoving my dress shirt back into my slacks.

“No—but—they were expensive!” she said, and I laughed.

“Tell me what kind they were, and your size, and I’ll buy you new ones.”

Her face went mischievous at once. “I got them in Italy from a cobbler.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to take you there,” I said, moving to kneel in front of her, to roll up the legs of the janitorial uniform I’d swiped for her—and there was carpet burn on both her knees.

“And there goes another fourth of my closet,” she complained lightly.

I squinted up at her. “And…is this like how we met?”

Her eyes went wide and she shook her head. “Oh—no—no. This? Is a thousand times better. Trust me,” she said, quickly rolling her pants back down, and pulling her zipper up. “But can you promise me something?”

“Of course,” I said.

“Be on time for my father’s party. Please. I know you won’t want to see me there withhim.” Luckily she left his name unsaid. “But I don’t think I can make it through without you.”

“I will. I promise,” I said, offering her my hand. “Fuck though—now we’ve got to get you home.”

She went into Mrs. Armstrong’s office, and returned with her hair whirled up in a bun and massive sunglasses.

“You look like a supermodel who got invited to a shitty theme party,” I muttered, and she snickered.

“I’ve snuck out of boarding schools run by nuns, Rhaim—I can manage to get home safely.”

“Then how come someone spotted you at the doctors?”

“I wasn’t ready then. I am now.”

I wanted to fight with her. But I knew I needed to give her space. To prove I trusted her—and in her instincts.

“All right. Text me when you get home?”

She rose up on her toes and quickly kissed my cheek. “I’ll wave to you. From the camera.”

---