“I can’t. Not yet,” Brandon said, his voice dropping to a serious whisper. “I’ll divorce her soon. Once I get my inheritance from my grandpa. The clause says I have to be married, never divorced my wife, to receive the trust fund. It will be released next month.”
“Next month?”
“Yes. Just hang on. Besides,” he added, a nervous edge entering his tone, “you know how your brother would react if he learned about us, right? Kyle would kill me. He never like me dating you, let alone cheating on my wife.”
I stepped back, the floorboards creaking under my weight. I froze.
But they were too busy.
“Just a little longer,” Denise murmured.
“Yes, just a little longer,” I also whispered to myself. “You’ll never see me again.”
I stood in front of the full-length mirror, smoothing down the silk of my emerald dress. It was modest, elegant, the kind of dress a wife wears to celebrate four years of marriage. But my reflection looked hollow. The woman staring back at me wasn't excited; she was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
I walked out to the living room just as Denise emerged from the guest room.
She was wearing a scrap of red fabric that barely qualified as a dress. It clung to every curve, the neckline plunging dangerously low, the hem riding high on her thighs.
Brandon, who was checking his watch by the door, looked up. His eyes widened, then darkened instantly.
“No,” he said, his voice sharp. “Where are you going wearing that?”
Denise smirked, adjusting a strap that didn't need adjusting. “I’m going out. I’m going to have some fun. It’s boring here with you two lovebirds cooing at each other.”
“No, you won’t,” Brandon snapped, stepping toward her. “That is too revealing. You look like a… you look cheap, Denise. Go change.”
“Why?” she challenged, crossing her arms.
“Because I’m concerned,” Brandon said, his jaw tight. “Your brother wouldn't like it. Kyle would lose his mind if he saw you going out like that.”
I watched them from the hallway. To anyone else, it might have sounded like a protective friend looking out for his best friend’s little sister. But I saw the flare of his nostrils, the possessive way his eyes raked over her exposed skin. It wasn't concern. It was jealousy. Pure, green-eyed jealousy. He didn't want other men looking at what he thought belonged to him.