The house was too much.
Too much marble. Too much glass. Too many rooms that didn’t need to exist. The agency had said “large family home, couple traveling two weeks.” They hadn’t said the master closet was bigger than my apartment or that the wife’s silk robe would still be hanging on the bathroom door like she’d only stepped out for a minute.
I told myself I was just checking the place. Then I put the robe on anyway.
Champagne silk. Thin. It clung to my t**s and barely closed. I left it open down the front and walked out to the pool because the backyard looked like it belonged to people who never had to worry about rent.
Two weeks alone in a house this big. No Miles asking if I came yet when I hadn’t. No polite, hurried thrusts that always ended before I got there. Just space. Quiet.
