Kira left the kitchen with her spine ramrod straight and her chin lifted high. Only once the heavy doors of her bedroom clicked shut behind her did she allow herself to slump back against the wood, exhaling a long, shaky breath. She stood frozen there for a moment, the chilled bottle of water still clutched in her fingers, staring blankly at the opposite wall.
She tipped the bottle to her lips and drank half of it in three desperate gulps, but the cold liquid did nothing to soothe the hot, twisting ache in her chest. Ruby's bright laugh still rang in her ears. The casual way her hands had rested on Derek's broad shoulders. The cosy, intimate little scene she had walked in on. It shouldn't have stung. It really, truly shouldn't have.
Their marriage was an open one, nothing more than a contract on paper. He could have a dozen women laughing at his jokes, touching him, for all she cared. So why did it feel as if someone had pressed a thumb hard against a sore bruise?
