* * *

MYLA

I stare at my reflection in the mirror while I finish brushing my teeth. Ryot already finished getting ready and is in bed, but I’ve taken longer because I’ve needed to stop and think.

I’ve been thinking about tonight, about the past few months, about missing the cues that Ryot might be depressed or hurting. Feeling like he didn’t want to show me weakness because he assumes I’m the weak one in the relationship . . .

That last one is giving me a second. I know he didn’t say it, but he didn’t really have to. It was written all over his face. And I don’t know how I feel about it.

I’m not mad.

I’m not really upset either.

Because how could I blame him? After everything we’ve been through, he’s been the protector. He’s been the one who shielded me—our marriage from the press, from my mom, from the world—and he’s cherished that role and me up until a few months ago.

I spit out my toothpaste and rinse my mouth before drying off.

I stare at my reflection again. God, I’m so confused, yet I still want to be near him. I don’t want this day to end with an awkward beat between us. That’s why I find myself slipping off my bra and underwear and slipping on one of his shirts.

When I open the bathroom door, I spot him resting in bed, one hand behind his head while the other rests at the edge of the sheets that barely reach his waistline, leaving his impressive chest on full display. The contours of his muscles are highlighted even more by the dim lighting. The casted shadows play with the divots and curves along his pecs and abdomen, showing off his brute, carved strength. And then there’s the way he looks at me. His eyes roam from my legs all the way up to my face in an appreciative, starving perusal. But he doesn’t move, and he doesn’t shift. He just stares at me like a hungry man, ready to devour his meal.

It’s how he’s always looked at me. He’s always made me feel like the sexiest woman in the room, despite how I might have felt about my body in the past, thanks to my mom. He’s loved my curves, he hasn’t batted an eyelash when I’ve gained some weight, and he’s never once turned me away, always worshipping.

Always.

“Hey, baby.” He wets his lips.

“Hey,” I say softly and go to my side of the bed, where I slip under the covers.

As I turn toward him, he turns as well and props his head up as his hand falls to my side. “I’m sorry for ruining the end of our night.”

“You didn’t ruin it.”

His hand grips me tighter as he says, “I did. We were having a great time, and I brought down the evening.”

“You were being honest, Ryot. That’s not bringing down the evening.”