One Night Before Goodbye

Chapter 2 – The Stranger in Her Bed

(Zara’s POV)

Roman pinned me against the balcony rail.

The night air was warm around us and the moonlight spilled over his shoulders but all I could see were Roman’s dark and hungry eyes.

His hands gripped my ass as he kissed me roughly. His mouth was urgent and greedy.

His mouth dragged down the thin line of my throat. He bit the spot that made my knees weak, softly.

I gasped when his hand slipped under the thin strap of my dress, pulling it down until the fabric slid off my skin.

The night breeze licked over my naked breasts.

“You drive me insane,” he groaned low in his throat, his voice rough with need, as he dropped to his knees.

“Roman –“ I whispered, but the word became a moan as his tongue circled my n****e, slowly and deliberately.

“Mine,” he said, again and again, as if he wanted the word to be carved into my bones.

I believed it.

He pushed my dress further down and fire spread as his fingers moved over my ass.

His hands slid under my lace panties. His fingers separated my v****a in a possessive way that made me moan his name again and I nearly cried out when he entered me.

His mouth found mine as his fingers began to stroke me into madness.

I grabbed his hair, pulling him closer. “Please,” I begged shamelessly.

He lifted his head. His eyes were dark with hunger. “You’ll never have to beg me, Zara.”

And in one quick move, he lifted me. His strong arm slid beneath my thighs, and he leaned my back on the balcony rail as if I weighed nothing.

My legs wrapped around him naturally, and then he was inside me, hot, hard, claiming.

The world exploded. The stars blurred as he moved deep.

The rail dug into my back, but the pain only increased the pleasure. I cried out. The sound I made was louder than I meant, but I didn’t care if the whole island heard.

His speed was merciless and beautiful at the same time. I clung to him, my nails raked down his shoulders. Every penetration stole my breath and his groan made me feel worshiped and desired.

“Say it,” he asked, moving deeper and harder.

“I’m yours,” I panted, trembling as pleasure built inside me. “Always yours.”

He kissed me, swallowing my scream as I climaxed in his arms. Our bodies shine with sweat and love. His climax followed with a groan as he buried his p***s deep and his body trembled against mine.

We made love under the stars, careless and loud, not worried about who might hear us.

When it was over, he didn’t let me go. He carried me inside, laid me on the white sheets and looked at me like I was the only woman alive.

My laughter echoed into the sea and Roman looked at me like I was a miracle.

That was five years ago in Santorini.

I sat in the glass-walled conference room of my gift boutique ‘Love by Zara’, staring at a presentation I wasn’t listening to.

My assistant, Grace, was pointing at a slide, waiting for me to respond.

Downstairs, through the café’s wide windows, I could see couples scattered at little tables.

Two couples sat close, laughing between cake bites. A man reached across to brush whipped cream from a woman’s lip. Another man leaned close to whisper something that made his partner laugh so hard, that she had to cover her mouth.

A lump formed in my throat. We were once like that.

“Mrs Vale?” Grace’s voice pulled me back to the conference room.

“Yes,” I answered quickly, straightening. “That works. Send the proposal draft to me,” I said in a cool and professional tone.

Grace hesitated, “Are you… okay?”

I forced a smile, the one I have perfected for clients and cameras. “I’m fine.”

But inside, I was anything but fine.

She bit her lip, clearly, she was not convinced, but she didn’t push.

Back to my office, I closed my eyes as I leaned back in my chair. I could still feel the way Roman touched me in the dream I had this morning. I could still see his grin when he surprised me with ice cream on that beach in Santorini.

Now? He comes home late and tired with his phone buzzing with messages.

I can’t keep living like this, waiting, hoping, shrinking.

I opened my eyes and stared at the framed photo on my desk, our honeymoon in Santorini. Roman kissed my temple. My hair wild from the sea breeze. Both of us grinning like idiots.

I pressed my finger against the glass of the framed photo, aching.

I am not going to sit here and watch my marriage die.

I grabbed my purse as I stood up quickly.

If I don’t act now, I will lose him forever.

I found myself at a lingerie boutique that smelled of vanilla and temptation. Silks and laces hung on hangers. Red, black, white. Dangerous, innocent and sinful.

“Special occasion?” the salesgirl asked, smiling as if she was sure and not asking.

“My anniversary,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

The salesgirl's eyes lit up. “Then it has to be red. Red makes men forget their names,” she cajoled, holding up a fine lingerie set in front of a mirror. The kind of red that screamed danger and desire.

“You’ll look stunning in this,” she said brightly.

I touched it, imagining Roman’s eyes darkening the way they used to as I stared at my reflection in the mirror. “I’ll take it,” I said, my lips curved in a light smile.

I didn’t stop there.

I went to the wine shop down the street. My hands searched through the shelves until I found a bottle of Dom Pérignon. Roman once called it liquid courage.

I ran my hand over the neck of the bottle, remembering his smile when he said it. It was our second year of marriage. Roman was drunk on this very brand, whispering s****l things in my ear.

I smiled as a spark of hope lighted inside me. Maybe I could bring him back. Maybe tonight would change everything.

This anniversary wouldn’t be like last year’s. It wouldn’t be another quiet dinner filled with awkward silences.

I am going to remind my husband of who I am, who we are.

By the time I got home, the sky was painted with streaks of orange and gold, but he wasn’t home yet.

I dropped my purse on the sofa and walked into his study. My hand shook the mouse as I placed the champagne on the desk and the screen of the computer lit up.

His work calendar was on the screen. Tomorrow’s date stared back at me. Empty. No ‘Anniversary Dinner’. No plans.

My chest tightened. I almost knocked off the bottle of champagne. I caught it just before it hit the floor. My heart beat loudly in my ears.

Our anniversary is tomorrow. Five years of marriage.

But the man I’d married, the man who called me his miracle, felt like a stranger in my bed.