The End of a Marriage (Colette and Matheo) novel Chapter 231

Chapter 231

Her response was a burning glare and a sharp, “I hate you.”

The venom in her words was enough to startle most men, but Graham only laughed. He didn’t mean to–it just slipped out, a deep, rich

sound that filled the room. He knew it was the worst possible

reaction, especially when Isla’s face darkened further, her indignation

flaring hotter.

“Coffee, then?” he offered, lifting the pot to pour her a cup. Before he could, Isla snatched the cup out of his hands, her movements jerky with frustration. “I’m not a child. I can pour my own coffee.”

He set the pot down, raising his gaze from the jug to her flushed, fiery face. Her eyes sparked with defiance, her lips–full and pouty from pressing them together too hard–were as red as ripe cherries. Her hair was a tangled mess of black and brown curls, cascading around her face in wild disarray. She wore a soft pink bathrobe over her pajama set, her outfit lending her a softness at odds with the fire in

her expression.

It hit him suddenly, a realization that settled heavily in his chest: She keeps saying that–‘I’m not a child.‘ Over and over, like a mantra, as if she was trying to convince both herself and everyone else.

Chapter 231

And maybe that was the problem.

The truth was, Isla had never been allowed to be anything but the

little girl everyone insisted she was. From the moment she’d stepped

into the Lancaster household, she’d been showered with affection and

coddled with care. His father, Robert Lancaster, had adored her like a

beloved daughter, and the entire household had followed suit. They

had indulged her every whim, sheltered her from every harsh reality,

and, in doing so, kept her in a state of suspended childhood.

But Graham could see now how wrong they all had been. Isla wasn’t a

child anymore. She was a young woman–a breathtaking one–with

wide, expressive eyes that glimmered with fire and lips that seemed

to tremble with unsaid words. Sitting across from her now, he

realized how much she must long to be seen as she truly was, not as

the girl everyone had confined her to being.

Most women her age had lives of their own–friends who shared

secrets over late–night calls, parties where they danced until their

feet ached, and romances that set their hearts racing. Isla had been denied all of that. The thought brought a pang of guilt, but it was overshadowed by something stronger: the fierce need to give her the world she’d been kept from.

Yet when his thoughts turned to the kind of boys she might have encountered in that world, his jaw tightened. Teenage boys. Careless, selfish, driven by nothing but impulse and hormones. He’d been one

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Chapter 231

of them once; he knew exactly what they wanted. The idea of Isla in

the clutches of some fumbling boy made his blood run hot with anger.

He wasn’t sorry she’d been spared that. Not at all.

But the rest?

He glanced at her, at the delicate curve of her neck and the way her

messy curls framed her face. She deserved the thrill of being swept

off her feet. The elegance of slipping into a gown that made her glow.

The excitement of stepping into a room and turning every head. And

he would make sure she experienced it all.

Except… it would be with him. Only him.

He imagined it vividly–her dressed in something stunning, her hand

resting on his arm as he escorted her into glittering soirées where

every eye followed them. He’d teach her to dance, his hand at her

waist, guiding her effortlessly across the floor. And when the music

faded, and the night gave way to something quieter, he’d lean in, his

lips brushing against hers until the world melted away.

The thought of her softness against him, her breath hitching as he

deepened the kiss, sent a rush of heat through him. If she wanted

passion, he would give it to her. If she wanted to feel like a woman, he

would make sure she felt every bit of it–every look, every touch,

every whisper of desire.

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Chapter 231

A quiet, unconscious grin tugged at the corners of Graham’s mouth as

he thought about it–Isla’s first kiss. His mind replayed the memory

of that moment, the one where he had been the one to take it from

her. He couldn’t deny the thrill of it, the sensation of her lips against

his, soft and unfamiliar, yet somehow undeniably right. She had

pulled away from him quickly, retreating with the frantic pace of a

startled creature, but even in that moment of distance, a flicker of

something else lingered in the air.

Did she feel it too? He wondered. That electric spark, that undeniable

chemistry. She had been shocked by his touch–he could see it in her

wide eyes, her breath catching in her throat. But had she recoiled in fear or disgust? No. Her lips had not pulled away in rejection; instead, they had clung to his, even if only for a brief instant. Her hands, small and trembling, had gripped his shoulders with such force, leaving

faint indentations in his skin as if she hadn’t known her own

strength. She hadn’t resisted. She hadn’t fought. She had felt it, too-

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