ZANE
“What did you say?” I blinked again, as if my ears had failed me.
She leaned back against the pillows, unbothered, regal even. The softness she’d worn earlier was gone, replaced with an expression so sharp and cold.
“I said you married the wrong woman,” she repeated, savoring every word.
My pulse thudded hard in my ears. I forced a laugh, thin and brittle.
“You’re tired,” I said. “You are only saying nonsense because you are tired. You are not making sense, Emma. What do you mean by "I married the wrong woman” ?”
Emma studied me for a moment, like she was deciding how much she wanted to enjoy this. Then she shifted, sitting up straighter, the sheets slipping down her shoulders.
Her lips curved slowly.
“Oh, Zane,” she said, clicking her tongue. “You really are slow. Far less im
