I Embraced the Moon With My Tears

Rhys Delgado loved fairness above all.

So every time he took the hand of some young girl, he'd hand me a college boy on the side, to keep things even.

The first time, I went out of my mind and smashed everything in the house to pieces.

Rhys didn't stop me.

He stood by the door and watched with cold eyes, and only when I'd worn myself out and slumped to the floor did he go back to his room.

Leaving me alone with the wreckage.

Then came the second time, the third time... more times than I could count.

I went from breaking down to going numb, until at last I could calmly tell those men who tried to climb my bed for a shortcut that I wasn't like Rhys.

I wouldn't dirty myself just to get back at the person I loved.

Until he brought home a different kind of girl.

The new one was sweet and delicate, hiding behind Rhys, watching me with timid eyes.

Rhys spoke in that mocking tone of his. "Maisie Henson's pregnant. She'll be staying here through the pregnancy. Take good care of her."

"And of course, I've got your payment ready. The top-scoring freshman Capital University admitted this year. More than good enough for you."

I nodded, unmoved, and pulled out the bank card I'd prepared long ago, ready to send the man off the way I always did.

Until I looked up, and froze on the spot.

Because the man in front of me was Russ Harding, the untouchable crush I'd loved in secret for ten years.

01

In an instant, my heart was pounding like a drum.

Time seemed to have stopped on his face. He looked exactly as he had six years ago when we parted, not a bit changed, if anything even more boyish.

I wanted to ask him why he was here.

I wanted to ask him how he'd turned into this year's top scorer at Capital University.

But the words caught in my throat, and I couldn't get out a single one.

All I could hear was my own heartbeat, louder and louder.

It was the first time Rhys had seen me lose my composure. His pretty, tilted eyes narrowed slightly, moving between my face and Russ's, and then he let out a sudden scoff. "Martha Pruitt, I never took you for that type."

To Rhys, Russ looked shockingly shabby.

A wrinkled plaid shirt, jeans washed pale, hair long enough to fall over his eyes, and those dark, heavy pupils fixed on my face. The whole of him was gloomy and sullen.

He couldn't understand why I'd go blank over someone like that.

He jerked his chin at Russ and gave the order from on high. "Go on. Go show your sugar mama a good time."

Russ didn't move.

He pressed his lips together, fists clenched, as if he'd been dealt some terrible humiliation.

I watched, half in a daze.

Russ had a foul temper. Anyone who crossed him got it back on the spot; there was no way he'd swallow it like this.

Could it be that the man in front of me wasn't Russ.

But how could two people in this world look exactly alike?

While I stood there lost, Rhys ran out of patience.

He folded his arms, walked around behind Russ, and drove his foot into the small of his back.

The kick sent Russ stumbling, nearly to the ground.

Without thinking, I rushed over to catch him, and he fell right into my arms, his face buried against my shoulder, his whole body trembling and unable to stop.

This, I thought, definitely wasn't Russ.

Russ was proud. He'd never once been this fragile.

The heart that had leapt so wildly went cold, and I took the bank card out again and held it out to him.

Before the man in front of me could speak, Rhys laughed first, mocking.

"Martha Pruitt, is there any point playing the chaste, wronged wife this long? Back when you did everything you could to crawl into my bed, weren't you the wildest of them all?"

I was long used to Rhys's vicious tongue. Without so much as a glance at him, I calmly told this man who looked so much like Russ, "There's five hundred thousand in there. Take it and go."

The man across from me let his lashes tremble, then reached out with long, clean-jointed fingers and laid them lightly on the card.

My pupils shrank all at once.

There was a small mole on his index finger.

Exactly like the one Russ Harding had.

He was Russ Harding.

Everything inside me churned at once, and even my fingertips wouldn't stop trembling.

I was terrified Russ would actually take this bank card, and I would never see him again.

And I truly wanted him to take it, because he must have run into some kind of trouble, if he was pretending to be a college student and showing up at the Delgado house like this.

Better for him to take the money and go, before Rhys could humiliate him too.

But Russ did neither.

His fingers slid along the card, up over the back of my hand, and finally his whole hand closed around my wrist and gave a light tug.

I stumbled forward a step, and my head bumped against his chest.

Russ's low, rough voice sounded against my ear. "Martha, I don't want the money. I only want to stay with you."

My heart pounded wildly.

He wasn't the first to say something like that.

Rhys had said it to me with every man he brought in. As long as I accepted them, a million a time, no ceiling.

So those men pulled out every trick they had.

Blunt seduction, gentle temptation, sweet words, playing hard to get and then giving in. Every kind of it.

But all of it together couldn't measure up to that one line from Russ.

In an instant it stripped away every defense I had and left me in pieces.

By the time I came back to myself, I had already answered, "All right."

Russ hadn't even had time to react before Rhys's smile faded. His eyes went dark on me, and his thin lips pressed into a hard line.

He seemed unaware of his own expression, until Maisie spoke up, eyes reddening. "Rhys, you're hurting me."

Only then did he notice how tightly he was gripping Maisie's arm, already bruising it.

In that instant his thoughts snapped back into place, and the gloom in his eyes turned into that familiar sneer. "Martha," he said to me, "you finally can't keep up the act anymore."

I couldn't be bothered to answer him. I just took Russ and walked out.

I went to the hospital first, afraid that kick from Rhys had left some injury on Russ.

Once I was sure he was fine, I took him straight to the mall.

Russ had delicate skin. A slightly cheap fabric and he'd break out in a rash all over.

I walked around with him for a long while before we finally came home, arms full of bags.

The moment I opened the door, I saw Maisie sitting on the couch in my nightgown.

The second she saw me her eyes went red, and she stood up timidly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wear your clothes."

"I'm clumsy. I accidentally broke the vase in the living room and got my clothes wet, so Rhys gave me yours to put on..."

I looked over at the shelf in the living room.

Whether it was to provoke me or she'd genuinely forgotten to clean it up, the shattered vase was still lying where it had fallen.

Porcelain shards were scattered everywhere, like my own heart.

I thought I should feel hurt.

That vase was what Rhys had given me right after we married.

A Ming-dynasty white porcelain double-necked vase, which Rhys had bought abroad at auction for thirty-six million dollars.

When a reporter asked why he'd pay such a price for the piece, Rhys had smiled into the camera. "To take home for my wife. She loves arranging flowers."

After that, everyone knew how fiercely Rhys loved me.

But I couldn't summon even a shred of energy to be angry. I could even say to Maisie calmly, "It's just a vase. Broken is broken."

The words had barely left my mouth when I heard, from not far off, the sound of a phone dropping onto the floor.

I looked up and saw Rhys standing on the stairs.

His two fine brows were drawn together, and those beautiful eyes of his were full of anger.

The moment he opened his mouth, it was to accuse me. "Martha Pruitt, Maisie only wanted to borrow one of your dresses. Why did you have to make things hard for her?"

Thank God. I'd actually thought Rhys was angry because I hadn't cared about that vase.

After all, even on the worst night we ever fought, when I smashed the whole house to pieces, I never once brought myself to touch that vase.

I let out a breath and said to him, "I didn't make things hard for Maisie. My closet is open to her anytime. Whatever she likes, she can take."

His face darkened further. He clenched his jaw, then strode over to Maisie all at once, took her hand, and said to me with real venom, "Martha Pruitt, you think anyone wants your things? Maisie is carrying my child. Of course I'll give her the best."

Then he told the driver to bring the car around, and on the side got in touch with the sales staff at all the big luxury boutiques.

I wasn't surprised in the least.

Being married to Rhys this long, we did share plenty of things in common.

For instance, we both loved dressing up the person we cared about.

Before, we dressed up each other. Now I dress up Russ Harding, and he dresses up Maisie.

Seeing that I wasn't moved, Rhys got even angrier.

He gripped Maisie's hand and turned to leave, not noticing at all that she couldn't keep up with him and stumbled a few times.

I didn't have the attention to spare for whatever was going on over there. I turned and took Russ's hand instead. "Are you hungry?"

He shook his head.

I looked at him, wanting to speak but holding back.

There were too many things I wanted to ask him, and I didn't know how to start.

I was afraid of tearing open the sad parts, and afraid he might not want to tell me anything at all.

Maybe everyone gets this tense and raw in front of the person they like.

As if he could read my thoughts, Russ, who had followed silently behind me all day, spoke up on his own.

His voice came out hoarse. "Sis, I'm thirsty."

Russ really was younger than me, but only by fifteen days.

We grew up together, childhood sweethearts, and he never once called me sis. He always coaxed me into calling him big brother instead.

That one word set my face burning and my heart racing. I forgot the questions in an instant and said, all but fleeing, "I'll go pour you some water."

In the tea room, it took me a while to calm down. I patted my own cheeks, then carried the freshly brewed tea back to him.

He cupped the cup and drank with his head bowed, those long lashes casting a shadow across his cheeks. He looked so meek.

I had the housekeeper make him his own meal.

Russ seemed to have something on his mind and ate very little.

I figured he was just tired, so I settled him into the guest room, hoping he'd rest early. I was about to leave when he suddenly caught my finger.

Those dark eyes fixed on me without blinking. He said in a low voice, "Sis, stay with me."

Then he nuzzled the back of my hand with his head.

I really couldn't resist that.

I stayed with him until he fell asleep, and only then did I slip out on tiptoe.

I didn't go back to my own room. I went to the kitchen instead.

Russ had eaten so little that afternoon that I was afraid he'd wake up hungry in the night, so I made him a late-night snack.

The food was just ready, and as I was about to carry it to his room, I turned around and found Rhys. He'd come back at some point without my knowing, and he was standing just outside the kitchen. I had no idea how long he'd been watching.

I flinched and asked before I could think: "Why are you back?"

Rhys let out a soft, mocking laugh. "What? Afraid I'd get in the way of you and your college boy?"

I didn't know how to answer that.

Sometimes, when the house bored him, Rhys would take a girl out for the night and not come home for days on end.

I'd assumed this time would be the same.

Luckily, he didn't press it. Instead his eyes settled on the plate in my hands.

Then, out of nowhere: "Martha, I don't think I've ever eaten anything you cooked."

I drew my hands back.

He must have caught how reluctant I was, because he took a deliberate step forward and lifted the plate right out of my grip.

He sat down at the table with easy grace and began to eat, unhurried.

Irritation prickled at me until I couldn't hold it in. "Rhys, that wasn't made for you."

He acted as if he hadn't heard.

When he finished, he dropped the chopsticks, took a napkin to his mouth, and let two words fall from those vivid red lips: "Tastes awful."

Looking at the plate he'd scraped completely clean, I nearly laughed from anger.

I tossed back a line: "If it tastes so bad, have Maisie cook for you."

Then I turned and headed for my room.

I'd barely reached the door when Rhys followed and, without warning, pinned me against the wall. His fingers slid past the hem of my shirt where they had no business being, and his voice came out hoarse. "Martha, have a baby for me."

Goosebumps swept over every inch of me.

Not from the charged air. From fear.

After what happened on our first wedding anniversary, Rhys had never touched me again.

He thought I was dirty.

I'd tried, unwilling to accept it, to tempt him back a few times.

The first time, he filmed me and sent it to his group chat with the guys. Every one of them saw me at my most humiliating.

For a while after that, I couldn't bring myself to leave the house.

The last time, he took me to a private club and told me that if I was so starved for a man I could go and service the clients there. I knelt and begged him, crying until my face was a mess, and only then did he let me off.

After that, I never dared cross the line again.

So when Rhys came close, I assumed he'd dreamed up some new way to torment me, and I hurried to get out of his reach.

He didn't like that. He forced himself closer and pressed a kiss to my lips.

The faint smell of alcohol spread between us, and only then did I realize itRhys was drunk.

He couldn't hold his liquor. One glass and he was gone.

In all our years together, the only time he'd ever drunk was the day he married me.

So he really did like Maisie. Enough to let his guard all the way down and get drunk without a care in front of her.

Something sour spread through my chest, but my voice stayed gentle, still coaxing him. "Rhys, you're hurting me. Let go, please?"

Rhys tilted his head. He was always easy to handle once he'd been drinking, and he let go of my hand quickly.

I'd barely started to breathe again, hadn't even gotten a word out, when Rhys hooked an arm around my waist, lifted me one-handed, and kicked the bedroom door open.

He laughed low against me. "Martha, I know you put the college boy I found for you in the guest room. You didn't sleep with him. You only kept him around to spite me, didn't you?"

"No, I kept him because"

I never got to finish. His kiss came down over me, everywhere at once, swallowing any sound I could make.

Panic sent me struggling with everything I had, and my hand caught the light switch by accident.

The pitch-black room flared bright all at once. I squinted, and once my eyes adjusted and I took in the sight on the bed, my whole body went rigid.

Russ Harding sat quietly at the head of the bed, hugging a pillow.

His long hair fell across those eyes dark as smoke, so I couldn't read his face.

And across his lap lay Maisie, fast asleep, sweetly at peace.

I didn't understand how Russ had ended up tangled up with Maisie, but on instinct my hand went up to cover Rhys's eyes.

He liked Maisie so much. I was afraid of what he might do to Russ if he saw them.

But I'd overestimated my own strength. Rhys caught my wrist and pushed my hand away without effort.

Most of the drunkenness had drained out of him. For the first time, those peach-blossom eyes that were always smiling held no smile at all.

He looked at Russ, his voice cold as ice. "Who the hell are you?"