•Penelope•
If I hadn’t wasted nearly seven hours scrolling i********: before our trip, I might’ve believed him.
Not that it mattered. I was no one to him. It shouldn’t be a big deal.
It really shouldn't.
Still, my eyes followed him as he crossed to the mirror in the parlor, muttering a curse under his breath.
“This isn’t what it looks like, I swear.”
Right. Because lipstick just magically shows up on a man’s neck like a rash.
God, please help me.
Why does the thought of him with another woman hurt my heart?
I pushed past him toward the kitchen. “I’ll start dinner.”
But before I could reach the counter, his hand closed gently but firmly around my wrist. “No. I’ll explain.”
I kept my eyes on the cutting board, willing my pulse to calm down. “You don’t have to. Like I said, it’s n
