Guilty by Desire

Chapter 3: Until I Can’t Anymore

Over the next two days, I buried myself in trial prep. Miranda and I had already finalized her strategy for her upcoming divorce hearing, which gave me unrestricted time to focus on Brinda's case. Mr. Dubois had signed the initial papers without a hitch, but the real battle was looming.

I was sitting on my living room floor, dressed in a black silk nightgown, my hair tied up in a messy bun. My laptop rested on the marble coffee table, completely surrounded by scattered legal documents.

These cases consumed me. I had rushed through my standard paperwork just to carve out this quiet time to build Brinda's defense. I chewed on the cap of my pen, reviewing a request for evidence from the prosecutor. The assigned judge, Charles, had a notorious track record of dismissing assault cases. We were going to have to use every single piece of dirt we could find to win this.

Music hummed through my headphones, but it wasn't loud enough to drown out the heavy slam of the front door.

I jumped, my pen skidding across the paper. Oliver marched into the kitchen, muttering something under his breath. I frowned, watching from the living room as he yanked the fridge open and grabbed a beer.

He walked over and dropped his briefcase on the couch, loosening his tie.

"We're on the same level of success, right?"

I paused, pulling one headphone out. "I assume so. You have your company, and I'm a senior partner. Why?"

He dropped onto the floor beside me, taking a swig of his beer. "I was having lunch with some guys from the firm today. Everyone's phones started blowing up with industry news, and the topic of your status came up. How your reputation is starting to overshadow mine."

I snapped my laptop shut, giving him my full attention. "And?"

"I don't know. I guess I felt some type of way about it."

"So, you're upset because a few guys pointed out I'm good at my job?"

"When you put it like that, you make it sound bad."

I scoffed. "No kidding. It sounds like my success is a problem for you. Would you rather they degrade me? Say I don't work hard?"

Oliver stood up, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "I'm not saying that, Athena. Why are you turning this into an argument?"

"How am I starting an argument?" I pushed myself up, moving from the floor to the sofa. "Are you not proud of me?"

"Of course I'm proud of you," he countered, though his tone lacked any real warmth. "I just don't think your success overpowers mine."

"Would it be such a terrible thing if it did?"

He rolled his eyes, letting out a harsh laugh. "If men look at me as weak, then yes. I'm the man of this house, and you're a—"

He caught himself, snapping his mouth shut.

The silence in the room became deafening. "No. Please finish your sentence. I'm a what?"

Oliver sighed heavily, turning his back on me to take his beer into the kitchen. "I'm just saying they should be talking about me more."

"You sound incredibly sexist," I said, following him. "Why is it so wrong for people to hype up my career? If the roles were reversed, I'd be thrilled your colleagues thought so highly of you."

I crossed my arms over my chest, the sting of his words settling deep in my chest.

He didn't look at me. "I'm going out. I'll let you calm down."

He grabbed his car keys and his coat, heading straight for the door.

"Stop walking away from me every time we disagree!" I followed him into the foyer. His hand wrapped around the doorknob. "You'd stay if you loved me."

Oliver froze. For a fleeting second, he turned his head slightly toward me.

"I'll be back later."

The door clicked shut behind him.

He left. He actually left.

I wiped angrily at the few tears that betrayed me and walked over to the counter to grab my phone.

"Serene," I breathed the second she answered.

"I'm on my way," she said instantly. She didn't need an explanation; the tremble in my voice was enough.

Fifteen minutes later, the front door swung open. Serene marched into the living room, her arms loaded with plastic bags full of snacks and drinks. I gave her a watery smile as she dumped the haul onto the coffee table.

She looked immaculate, as always. Tall, lithe, and stunning, she wore a black mini skirt, a sheer lace bra under an oversized denim jacket, and thigh-high boots.

I reached for a chocolate bar, but a nasty echo of Oliver’s voice rang in my head. Maybe when you decide to hit the gym and lose a few pounds...

I pulled my hand back, sinking deeper into the couch cushions. "I probably shouldn't be eating sweets right now. I'm gaining weight."

Serene's green eyes narrowed dangerously. She picked up the candy bar and tossed it directly into my lap. "You are not gaining weight, and whoever the hell told you that is just projecting their own pathetic insecurities. Eat the chocolate."

I smiled, tearing the wrapper open. Serene was a godsend. We had been inseparable since eighth grade, weathering every storm together. She knew everything about me—including the affair.

"He makes me want to shove a knife up his ass," she declared after I recounted the argument.

"I know, but he's my husband. Even after an argument like that, I still love him. I can't just throw away six years of marriage."

Serene let out a sharp, sarcastic laugh. "Athena, you threw away this marriage the second you slept with a stranger on vacation."

I glared at her. She threw her hands up defensively.

"That was a drunken mistake," I muttered, focusing intently on my snack. "I haven't seen Alessandro in six months."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean you haven't thought about him. You guys literally got matching butterfly tattoos on your hands, and you bought him a ring. After a night like the one you described, I guarantee he still wears it. Hell, he's probably thinking about you right now."

A treacherous little thrill shot through me at the thought. Did the memory of that night still burn in his mind the way it burned in mine? Did he memorize my body the way I memorized his?

I violently shoved the thought aside. "I'm married. It was a terrible mistake that I am never making again."

"You are in a loveless marriage," Serene said softly. "Just because you've been together for six years doesn't mean you have to stay. It's possible to fall out of love with someone and still care about them."

A fresh wave of tears blurred my vision. Serene shifted closer, pulling me against her chest and letting me cry it out.

Eventually, we changed the subject to her chaotic dating life.

"I told her I wasn't the relationship type!" Serene groaned, throwing her head back. "It's not my fault I eat p***y so skillfully that she got attached."

"One day, you're going to catch feelings, and someone is going to break your heart," I warned her. "Karma is real."

"Yeah, right." Her phone lit up with a text, and a wicked grin spread across her lips. She stood up, grabbing her denim purse. "I've got to go. Are you sure you're alright? I can stay if you need me to."

"No, I'm fine. I'm exhausted anyway."

"Okay. I'll see you later. I'm about to go wreck someone's night. Love you!"

"Love you too!" I laughed, watching her go.

Once the house was quiet again, I cleaned up the living room, took a hot shower, and slipped into one of my oversized t-shirts. I tried calling Oliver three times. Every single call went straight to voicemail.

Giving up, I grabbed a heavy fur blanket and curled up on the couch. I turned on a movie, trying to focus on the screen, but my mind was completely untethered. As the dialogue faded into background noise, I surrendered to the memory I had been fighting all night.

Alessandro.

Six months ago...

I giggled as the tattoo artist pulled a ridiculous face.

"You know this is my first tattoo?" I slurred slightly, leaning back in the leather chair. "I don't even feel anything."

Alessandro was lounging beside me, his arm resting behind his head, watching me with dark, predatory amusement. "That’s because you're drunk, pretty girl."

"I am so not drunk," I argued, before his words fully processed. "Wait. Did you just call me pretty?"

He nodded slowly.

I looked over at the artist. "Did you hear that? He called me pretty."

The artist, John, chuckled. "You are a very pretty girl."

Alessandro’s entire demeanor shifted. His eyes darkened, locking onto the artist with a heavy, territorial glare. "My very pretty girl."

A huge, foolish grin spread across my face. My cheeks burned. "Stop, you guys are making me blush. And for the record, Alessandro, you are a very handsome man."

"My heart is fluttering," he deadpanned, though his eyes never left mine.

A few minutes later, John and the second artist finished the delicate linework.

Alessandro stepped into my space, taking my freshly tattooed hand in his. He lifted it, pressing a soft kiss to my knuckles. "Just in case we never see each other again after tonight... let this be my memory to you. Even though I'll look for you until I can't anymore."

The sheer intensity in his voice made my breath catch. I grabbed his hand, mimicking his hold, staring up into his striking face. "Just in case we never see each other again... let this be my memory to you. Even though you'll look for me until you can't anymore."

The two artists behind us started clapping. "Sounds like you guys just exchanged vows," John laughed.

We didn't pay them any attention. We couldn't look away from each other.

Alessandro knew I was married. He knew the ring on my finger meant I belonged to someone else. But he didn't care. He leaned in and crushed his mouth against mine.

It felt like my very first kiss. I melted against him, wrapping my arms around his neck and tangling my fingers in his hair. His hands clamped down on my hips, pulling me flush against his body, devouring me right there in the middle of the shop.

We didn't care who was watching. The kiss was intoxicating—a slow, deep invasion that sent violent shivers straight to my core. The dominant stroke of his tongue against mine left me completely undone. I moaned softly into his mouth, and his grip tightened in response.

I was completely soaked. I was ready to surrender to whatever this man wanted to do to me.

When I finally had to pull back for air, our lips were still brushing. Alessandro slowly traced my swollen bottom lip with his thumb, his gaze dropping to my mouth.

"I can't wait," he whispered, his voice rough with dark promise, "to make this pretty voice of yours sing."