The house was silent except for the low hum of the refrigerator and the distant ticking of an old clock somewhere down the hall. Rain tapped at the window, a gentle, ceaseless rhythm, as if the world was determined to lull me into forgetting. I sat cross-legged in the middle of our living room, the coffee table cluttered with albums, the glossy pages of my life with James spread wide like a wound refusing to close.
My hands trembled as I turned the page. There we were: James and I on the beach in white linen, sunlight painting our faces with gold. My smile was wide, eyes bright and foolishly certain. James’s arms wound around my waist, his chin on my shoulder, his gaze not at the camera but at me, so intent it burned through the years.
A wave of longing crashed over me, sharp and cold. I pressed the pad of my thumb to the photo, tracing his jaw, the ghost of his touch tingling along my skin. I remembered the Maldives—two years ago, our honeymoon. The memory unfurled, vivid and merciless.
The villa had smelled of salt and jasmine, sweet and briny, the air thick with heat. That night, after dinner, I wrapped myself in a towel and stepped onto the balcony. The surf below was endless, the dark velvet sea stretching forever, punctuated by the white lace of waves. I gripped the railing, closing my eyes, letting the ocean wind whip my hair across my cheeks.
I felt him before I heard him: James’s presence, solid and magnetic, filling the doorway behind me. He came up close, his body a furnace at my back, hands slipping beneath the towel to rest on my hips. His lips brushed the curve of my neck, sending a shiver darting through me.
“Em,” he whispered, voice low and rough, “why do you always hide from me?”
I tried to laugh, but it caught in my throat. “I’m not hiding. Just…breathing.”
He pulled me flush against him, the towel slipping, heat blooming between my thighs. His palms moved over my stomach, slow and claiming. I didn’t resist when he eased me onto the wicker lounge chair, the towel pooling at my waist. The world shrank to the hush of the surf and the steady thud of his heart against my back.
His fingers traced lazy circles on my bare skin, each touch both promise and demand. The night sky above us was scattered with stars, cold and distant, but James’s hands were fire. He pressed his lips to my shoulder—soft, then biting. I gasped, arching back. His teeth grazed my collarbone, tongue flicking over the sting. I moaned, helpless beneath him, wanting and wanted.
“You belong to me,” he said, each word a vow. His voice vibrated against my skin, his breath tangled in my hair. I let myself believe it, let myself drown in the illusion that I was his one and only, that this was forever. His mouth claimed mine, fierce and possessive, as if he could fuse us together and keep the world at bay.
The memory blurred, dissolving into another night—a private dining room, the scent of grilled fish and citrus lingering in the humid air. I wore a sundress, skin flushed from too much sun and wine. James’s eyes were dark, pupils blown wide as he watched me from across the table, a lazy smile curling his lips.
We barely spoke as we left, the tension electric. In the corridor, he caught my wrist, pulling me into a private aquarium alcove. The glass wall was cool against my spine, the world outside teeming with slow, drifting fish—indifferent, unseeing. He pressed me hard against the glass, his thigh between mine, his hands framing my face.
“Do you feel them watching?” he murmured, voice teasing, dangerous. His nose brushed mine, his breath sweet with champagne. I trembled, every nerve ending lit up. The thrill of exposure—of being seen but untouchable—sent adrenaline racing through my blood.
He pinned my wrists above my head, mouth finding my throat, the silk of his tie brushing my skin. With his free hand, he tipped the champagne flute, letting icy drops bead along my collarbone. The liquid was cold, shocking, making me gasp. James’s tongue followed the trail, slow and wicked, licking each drop away as if savoring me.
“James—” I whimpered, half plea, half warning. He hushed me with a kiss, devouring my protest, his grip iron and velvet all at once. My head spun, the rush of water from the aquarium mingling with our ragged breathing, our bodies pressed so close I could hardly tell where I ended and he began.
He broke away just long enough to lock eyes with me, his gaze fierce. “You are the only one for me, Emily. Always.”
My heart ached at the memory, sharp and bright—a lie so beautiful I wanted to believe it, even now. In the bath that night, bubbles glimmered around me as I closed my eyes, wishing that moment—his arms, his promises—could last forever.
But now, alone in our too-quiet house, the echo of his voice haunted me. I pressed my hand to the album, as if I could summon him back. Outside, thunder rumbled, a storm gathering. The past was a tide I couldn’t escape, threatening to drag me under.
And somewhere deep inside, a question I couldn’t ignore began to surface, dark and insistent: What else had I never seen?
