Chapter 4: Maybe I’m Looking for a Wild Man
VANESSA BELMONT
Fiona wore a high-necked white dress with long sleeves, no jewelry except for diamond studs, and understated makeup. The picture of demure perfection—the kind of woman men deemed wife material.
Fiona had been the one to teach me that men didn’t want their wives to be the women they lusted after. No, they wanted them safe—safe from other men’s gazes, safe from their own passions. A wife had to be chaste, even within marriage, to be worthy of the title. God forbid she ever admit to desire.
In my prior incarnation, I had tried to compete with that perfect-wife persona, which is why my closet looked like a vanilla ice cream factory had exploded.
You know what? I hate vanilla ice cream.
Nathan was mid-sip when he spotted me. The glass never reached his lips. He stared, transfixed, until the people around him followed his gaze. Appreciation flickered across the men’s faces. One even clapped Nathan on the shoulder as if to say, Damn, you’re lucky.
I made eye contact, raised my glass in a silent toast, and took a slow drink. Then, deliberately, I turned my back on him and sauntered away.
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NATHAN JANG
I watched Vanessa toast me.
Her sultry smile struck me like a lightning bolt.