Chapter One
One month earlier
You would think that after almost ten years of marriage and fourteen years together I might have lost those magical tingles in my lady places when I looked at my husband.
But you would be wrong.
Watching my sleeping husband beside me in bed, I still felt a surge of desire, but now the sensation was overshadowed by longing, worry, and hurt.
Nate Sawyer was still a handsome bastard.
In sleep, he looked younger than his years—his features smooth and relaxed—despite the peppering of gray in the hair at his temples. He still had a head of thick hair and I suspected he always would. Dark with sprinkles of gray, salt and pepper, or full-on gray, it wouldn’t matter. With his naturally tan skin and movie-star good looks, my husband would always be attractive. Even when he was awake and you could see the rugged, sexy smile lines that crinkled the corners of his eyes, he was hotter than he ever had been as far as I was concerned.
There was something completely unfair about the fact that men seemed to grow more appealing with age while women had to work at that shit.
Tracing his features with my eyes, I just stopped myself from reaching out and touching him. Nate was tired a lot lately and I didn’t want to wake him up for Saturday-morning nookie when I suspected he wouldn’t thank me for it.
And wasn’t that just the most depressing thought ever.
There had been a time when Nate Sawyer wanted nothing more in this life than to be woken up with his wife’s mouth.
Don’t get me wrong, we were still having regular sex . . . but it wasn’t like it used to be. We had had sex last night. We both came, but there was something almost perfunctory about it. Like it was part of our routine or something. Nate just finished, rolled off me, leaned over to switch off the bedside light, said good night, and bam, he was asleep. No kissing, no cuddling, no whispering about our day.
Nothing.
And I fell asleep with tears on my pillow.
Not for the first time.
Feeling those tears prick my eyes anew, I huffed at my sentimentality and blinked the stinging wetness away. I was being so ungrateful. Look at my life. I had a great life!
Nate and I had made two beautiful kids. And God, did I mean beautiful. Lily was eleven and January was eight, and the two of them had gotten the best of the both of us. They were the spitting image of each other with their gorgeous olive skin and tumbles of dark hair. The only differences between them were that Lily had my golden-hazel eyes and Nate’s mouth, while January had Nate’s dark chocolate eyes and my mouth. But thankfully they both got Nate’s dimples. On my husband, those dimples were hot as hell.
On my girls, they were the sweetest dimples in the world, upping their cute factor by ten zillion.
They were adorable kids. Lily was our sweet little angel with a quiet, quirky sense of humor like her momma, whereas Jan was louder, outgoing, and full of mischief. Although they could fight like cats and dogs—something most sisters were known for, I’d been informed—Jan was super protective of her big sister. Adorably, bossily protective of her sister. It was as though, despite her young years, she understood that Lily had a sensitive soul that needed to be protected from those who wouldn’t treat her with care.
Yes, I had the best kids.
I had a great job as head librarian at the University of Edinburgh.
A nice house in Kirkliston, just a thirty-five-minute commute from the city center. We’d moved out there because it was more affordable and we could get a four-bedroom house for a fraction of what it would cost us in the city.
Since Nate had gone into business for himself and his photography company was doing well and had been for the last few years, we were financially comfortable.
So my husband worked a lot, and our weekly date nights that we’d promised to each other to keep our relationship fresh were a thing of the past.
However, it was really the last year or so that had taken a toll on our relationship.
The older the kids got, the more extracurricular activities they got involved in, the bigger their friendship circles grew, and I felt like I spent half my life splitting chauffeuring services with my husband, driving our kids all over the city. Plus, we both were busy with our careers.
We were busy.
Busy, busy, busy.
Somehow, though, we made it work.
Until about a year ago when we got so busy we stopped making it work so well.
And then it got worse six months ago. When Peetie—
Nate’s alarm suddenly blared into the air and I jolted my head around, staring up at the ceiling. I heard my husband groan beside me and felt the duvet shift across my body as he twisted around to switch off his alarm.
Then the duvet was shoved toward me and the mattress depressed as he sat up and swung his legs out of bed.
“Morning,” he mumbled sleepily and got up, scratching his bare chest as he wandered toward our en suite bathroom. His pajama bottoms hung low, showing off the top half of his muscular backside, and I flushed at the streak of arousal that coursed through my body.
Nate was a martial artist and he ran a judo club with our friend Cam MacCabe and their friend Josh McPhee. They were all 5th dan graded, meaning they were senior member black belt holders in the British Judo Association and extremely skillful. They also had their qualifications to coach. Nate had tried to coax me and Cam’s wife, Jo, into taking classes, but it was never really something I was all that into. But our girls were into it, and I liked that not only were they learning to defend themselves, they were learning it from their dad. So I was into that. I was also into the fact that my husband liked to keep in shape, and at forty-two years old, he had a better physique than most men half his age.
So why, then, as I watched him close the bathroom door behind him, did I feel that achy longing in my chest whenever I got turned on just looking at him? Honestly, I didn’t even want to analyze it because the fear of what it all meant was paralyzing.
I got up out of bed instead and had just pulled on my robe and was about to leave the room when I heard the toilet flush, the tap run, and then Nate appeared. “Don’t,” he said, sauntering over to his dresser to pull out a T-shirt. “I’ll get breakfast this morning.”
As he pulled the T-shirt over his head, I thought again how lucky I was. Nate and I shared all of our parental responsibilities. I never felt like I was alone in parenting Lily and Jan. For anything.
So why I was unhappy?
“Okay. I’ll grab a quick shower then.”
He nodded, and passed me by.
No kiss good morning.
And it wasn’t until I was in the shower that I let myself cry, where no one could see or hear me.
By the time I wandered into the kitchen there was no trace of my tears. I hadn’t done my makeup yet and my hair was only semi dry, but the hot water had brought a flush to my cheeks and that, with my bright, cheery smile, was all it took to make my kids believe everything was right in their world.
That was what mattered most to me. That my kids thought everything was good and right in their world.
The girls were sitting on high stools at the island in our kitchen, eating chocolate chip pancakes and watching their dad as he made them on the stove. He glanced up at me as I wandered in and smiled. Correction: Sometimes his dimples were adorable, too. “Want some?”
He was wearing his glasses and I couldn’t help but smile back, sure my tenderness and love was written all over my face. Nate didn’t seem to notice, turning back to watch his pancakes.
A few years ago, he had to get reading glasses and he hated them, but I loved them. They made him geeky hot, like Clark Kent, when normally he was Superman. Truth was, while growing up, waiting for my perfect guy to show up, I’d always wanted a Clark Kent, preferring him over the too-perfect Superman. I got Nate instead.
Glasses or no, it didn’t matter. I loved my husband beyond all reasoning, so I used to think I would take him any way I could get him.
Used to.
“Morning, Mummy!” Jan shouted, bringing my attention back to my sweet girls. There was rarely a time when Jan didn’t shout in greeting, and I envied my kid her boundless enthusiasm and energy. I swooped over to them, standing in between them and wrapping my arms around their little shoulders, drawing Lily’s head to me first so I could kiss her cheek, and then Jan’s.
“Morning, Mum.” Lily smiled sweetly up at me over her shoulder.
They were both still in their pajamas, Lily in purple with stars and Jan in blue with a Pixar Nemo pattern. Their long tangles of dark hair tumbled around their shoulders and down their backs in adorable bedhead style.
“So what is on the agenda today, kiddos?” Nate asked, turning around to put three chocolate chip pancakes on a plate. He shoved the plate toward me and then turned to his daughters expectantly.
“I’m going swimming with my friends,” Lily said after swallowing a bite of pancake. “I need someone to drop me off at Lucy’s house. Her mum is taking us.”
“I want to come!” Jan shouted around a mouthful of pancake.
I grabbed some cutlery Nate had put out and poured myself a glass of orange juice. “Don’t speak with your mouth full, baby.”
“But I want to go!”
“No.” Lily shook her head. “It’s my friends, Jan. Lucy didn’t invite you.”
“So you invite me,” Jan said in a duh voice that made me bite my lip to stifle my smile. I shared a look with Nate and saw he was struggling not to laugh.
“I can’t invite you.”
“Can so!”
“Can’t.”
“Can so!” Jan shoved her and Lily gripped the counter to stay on her stool.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Nate said sharply, pointing a spatula at our youngest. “Apologize to your sister or I won’t take you to the cinema today.”
“Really? Can we see the dragon movie again?”
I winced in sympathy for my husband because we’d already seen that movie at the beginning of the month.
But Nate didn’t even flinch. “Only if you apologize to your sister.”
Jan wrapped her little arm around Lily and squeezed her close. “Sorry, Lily-Bily. You can have my last pancake if you want.”
Lily giggled and squirmed out of her sister’s hold and graciously allowed Jan to keep her pancake.
Sensing peace reigning again, I took the stool next to January and started to dig into my pancakes as Nate made a few more for himself.
“Mummy, are you coming with us to see the dragon movie?”
“No, baby girl.” Nate spoke for me, turning around to sit at the counter with his breakfast. “Mum is going shopping with Aunty Jo today, remember? We’re going to have a daddy-daughter day.”
Jan clapped her hands in excitement but I noted Lily’s downcast expression. She hadn’t had a daddy-daughter day in while. “Hey, Lily-Bily,” I called softly, and she looked up at me. “How about you and I have a mummy-daughter day tomorrow, and then next weekend, we’ll switch.” I gestured to Nate.
He caught on quickly. “Daddy-daughter for me and you, Lil, next Saturday, and Jan and Mum can have a mummy-daughter day on Sunday.”
The girls seemed happy with this arrangement.
Me?
Well, I was just wondering what happened to family day. I’d come up with the idea of individual daughter time myself, of course, but still . . . where were Nate and I in all of this? Were we not to even spend time together with our kids?
Then of course it hit me that we were spending time together right now and it was more than what some families had. I needed to slap the ungratefulness out of myself.
“Would you rather have a big spot on your nose for the rest of your life or have a bogey hanging from it for the rest of your life?” Jan said.
I let myself relax into breakfast as soon as she asked the question.
It was tradition, our “Would You Rather” games. Something Nate and I had passed on to our kids. So what if Nate and I were disconnected lately? We still had this with Jan and Lily, and I was not going to waste my time mooning over my dissatisfaction when I could be enjoying my family.
“A big spot or a booger?” I said.
She nodded seriously.
“That is a tough one,” Nate mused.
“Very tough,” I agreed. “But I’m going to have to go with booger.”
“Ugh.” Lily giggled. “Why the bogey?”
Jan cackled hysterically, probably at the thought of her mother with a permanent booger hanging from her nose. I reached out and tickled her, making her laugh harder, as I explained. “Pimples are painful. Boogers are not.”
“I think I’m with your mum on this one.” Nate grinned.
“Me too,” Lily said.
“Then I choose the big spot!” my youngest declared.
Of course she did. My kid liked to be different from everybody else.
“Um . . . would you rather lick stamps for the rest of your life or . . . my feet.” Lily smiled mischievously, sticking out her foot to wiggle her little toes.
“Stamp!” Jan declared, throwing her sister a disgusted look.
Nate and I shared an amused look. “I don’t know,” my husband said. “Those little piggies are very cute.”
“Very,” I agreed. “I’m going to have go with your feet. In fact”—I slid off my stool—“I think I’m going to start right now.”
“No!” Her girlish laughter lit up the room as she jumped off her stool to run from me. “I’m too old for this, Mum!” she objected, but still she ran and still she laughed, managing to get past me and out of the kitchen. I finally caught up with her in Nate’s study, sweeping my eleven-year-old into my arms and tumbling to the ground with her as we laughed at our ridiculousness.
Thoughts of my husband’s distance and lack of passion toward me disappeared, fading out into the background.
This, I thought as I tickled my kid, her giggles like bubbles of champagne popping on my skin, this is my happiness.