I close my eyes, and for a fleeting second, I’m back in his bed.
It’s still fuzzy, still fragmented, but I remember the way his hands felt—big, steady, familiar. I remember the way he reached up, cupping my face so gently, as if I were something fragile. Something worth holding onto.
And I remember the way I moved against him. How natural it felt. How easy it was to forget everything else.
A sharp ache slices through my chest. God, why does he still feel like home? Why is he the person I still want to tell everything to? The first person I think of when something good happens? When something bad happens?
This isn’t healthy, Jules.
He’s your ex-husband.
But I was honest with him. I told him I’m still attracted to him.
So why am I still lying to myself?
Maybe I should wait to unpack all of this until I start painting.
Yeah. That’s what I’ll do.
Tonight is about Connie’s friend, about supporting her art. I’ll deal with Corbin later. With a paintbrush in hand, where things make sense. That seems the most logical.
I scan the room and find Connie in the corner, chatting with a small group. Grabbing a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, I make my way over.
She immediately pulls me into the conversation.
“This is Coraline,” Connie says, motioning to a petite brunette with perfectly straight micro bangs and a bold red lip. She wears a black-and-white striped dress, tall black socks, and Mary Janes. Everything about her looks like an artist. Someone who has spent years creating, honing her craft, living in the world of paint and charcoal.
“It’s so nice to meet you,” I say.
Coraline offers me a firm handshake. “Call me Cora.”
“And this is Tomas,” Connie continues, pointing to the man standing next to Cora.
Tomas is shorter than me but solidly built, his black T-shirt sleeves rolled just enough to show off toned biceps. His jet-black hair is gelled to perfection, and there’s something effortlessly cool about him.
“Glad you could make it tonight,” he says, his voice carrying a subtle accent.
“I’m glad I could be here,” I reply.
Connie grins and gestures toward the last man in the group. “I saved the best for last. This is Gio Gatti. He’s the owner.”
I shake Gio’s hand, taking in his graying hair and warm but assessing gaze.
“Jules Banks,” I introduce myself.
His head tilts slightly, eyes narrowing. “Corbin Banks’ wife?”
Connie nearly chokes on her champagne.
“Uh… ex-wife,” I correct quickly, ignoring the way my stomach flips.
Gio nods, as if that piece of information snaps everything into place. “That explains so much.”
Connie clears her throat. “That explains what exactly?”
Gio chuckles. “Corbin stopped by a couple of years ago. Wanted to talk about showcasing his wife’s work.”
My heart slams against my ribs.
