Page 239 of Wrong Marriage. Right Groom
I continued down the stairs slowly, my bare feet making no sound against the marble.
Part of me wondered what had put him in this state so soon after what we had shared.
Another part of me already knew better than to assume last night had softened anything permanent inside him.
I reached the bottom step.
Only then did he turn.
It was immediate—like he had sensed me before I made a sound.
His dark eyes landed on me at once, sharp and assessing.
Then they dropped.
His gaze traced the oversized shirt I was wearing, the way it hung off my frame, the way it barely covered what it was meant to.
The hem stopped high on my thighs, exposing far more skin than I was used to showing in front of him.
His expression shifted.
Subtly at first.
The cold fury didn’t disappear—but something else slid beneath it.
His gaze lingered on my bare legs a moment too long.
When he finally spoke, his voice was lower than before.
“Loretta.”
A pause.
“You should still be resting.”
“I woke up alone,” I said quietly.
My voice came out steadier than I expected.
“I thought maybe you regretted what happened.”
That got his attention fully.
His eyes lifted back to mine.
And then he moved.
A slow step forward.
Then another.
But it made the space between us shrink in a way that felt far more intense than if he had crossed it quickly.
His gaze didn’t leave me—not once.
“I don’t use the word regret lightly,” he said at last.
His eyes flicked briefly down again—just for a second, like the sight of me still disrupted something in him despite everything else going on in his mind.
