Page 1 of The Thinnest Air
CHAPTER 1
MEREDITH
Thirty-Six Months Ago
Anyone who claims chocolate cake is better than sex has never had the privilege of Andrew Price between their legs.
The snow-dusted Eiffel Tower stands tall outside our hotel window, and most of our bedding lies in a tangled mess on the floor.
This... this is a honeymoon.
Andrew climbs over me, his lissome runner’s physique sheened and glowing, and when he kisses me, I taste myself on his tongue.
He likes that I’m adventurous, carefree.
Correction—loves.
He also loves that I’m almost half his age, wielding a libido that hasn’t yet peaked and a body made for bringing the schoolboy fantasies of his divorced, middle-aged mind to life.
Running my hands along his muscled torso, I smile.
I love him. I love him a million times more than I ever thought I could possibly love another human being, and I don’t expect anyone to understand, least of all my sister. Greer is convinced we’ve got some sugar daddy arrangement, that it’s all for money and show, but she couldn’t be more wrong.
I can understand Greer’s concerns.
In the past six months, Andrew has paid off my student loans, bought me a car, and placed an entire privileged world at my fingertips. But she isn’t there at night, witnessing the tenderness in his touch, the lingering kisses. She’ll never know how it feels to lock eyes with Andrew Price from across the room and feel the ground shake beneath my unsteady gait.
He does something to me. Something no one else ever has.
With him I’m loved. I’m safe.
And that’s how I know it’s real.
The fancy cars, lavish dinners, and closet full of couture are nothing more than niceties. If he lost everything tomorrow, I’d still be by his side, dressed in rags and loving him nonetheless.
“More champagne?” He climbs off me, heading toward the minibar, and I miss his warmth, his subtle, musky scent. He’s my addiction, one I fully embrace with eyes wide shut because when you love someone, you trust the process. You fall hard. And you don’t look back. That’s what makes it so intense, so magical.
Rolling to my side, I bend my knees and rest my head on my hand, admiring my perfect husband and quietly appreciating how every square inch of him officially belongs to me now.
No other woman can touch him the way I can.
No other woman can make him feel the way I do.
And he knows that.
“Yes, please,” I say, my heart fluttering when his stare lingers on my body. He appreciates me, appreciates that I’m his. Before Andrew, I was always drawn to men my age, mistaking their arrogance for confidence.
Andrew isn’t arrogant. He’s successful, self-assured. But he isn’t entitled. He simply knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to go after it.
I’m so glad he wanted me.
He fills two glasses to the top and returns to bed, bubbling flutes in his hands.
“You’re going to love me forever, right?” My lips curl into a teasing grin to disguise the seriousness of my question. I take a sip, letting the airy froth sit on my tongue for a moment. I want to remember this. I want to feel everything, imprinting this into my memory for always. “No matter what?”
Andrew takes a sip, his amaretto eyes locked on mine. “What kind of question is that?” He presses his lips into my forehead, exhaling before cupping my cheek in his hand. “You’re my wife, Meredith. It’s you and me. Forever. You’re stuck with me.”
Now is when I choose to ignore the fact that I’m his third.
