Isn't It Bromantic (Bromance Book Club #4) by Lyssa Kay Adams

            She returned to the bed and gave in to the weakness in her knees, much like she had the first night she spent here. It was the nicest bed she’d ever seen. Plush and full, with enough pillows to accidentally smother someone. Or, as she discovered, to smother the sounds of crying. She did a lot of it that night. And then, hours later as she lay awake in the dark, eyes puffy and head throbbing, she vowed she’d never cry again. And she hadn’t until six months ago when she’d stood in front of him, looking sexier than any man had a right to in his tuxedo, and told him she was leaving him.

            Even now, months later, she couldn’t forget the way he’d looked at her at the wedding. So full of hope and joy. Until he wasn’t. She’d broken him. The man who had saved her. The man who had been her childhood best friend.

            Neighbor Dog leaped onto the bed and flopped down with his head in her lap. She buried her fingers in his thick black fur. He sighed contentedly and closed his eyes. Vlad had always wanted a pet, but his travel schedule made it impossible because he couldn’t leave them alone. Something else she’d stolen from him.

            The sudden blare of her phone made her jump a full inch off the mattress. It was a Nashville number she didn’t recognize. “Hello?”

            “Mrs. Konnikova? This is Tess Bowden. I’m one of the trainers from the Vipers. We’re going to be there in a few minutes with the home rehabilitation equipment. Are you ready for us?”

            “Yes, I’ll watch for you.”

            “Great,” the woman said. “We’re about ten minutes away.”

            Elena left her room with Neighbor Dog at her heels and found herself staring at the open door to Vlad’s bedroom. She could count on one hand the number of times she’d been in there. Which was as sad a commentary on the reality of their marriage as anything. At first, she’d avoided going in there because it was awkward. But then because it was too painful. Every time she stepped foot in his private space, the ring on her finger would grow heavy with the weight of his disappointment.

            Now, temptation mingled with curiosity, propelling her feet forward until she stood at the threshold. A glance around the space told her very little had changed since she’d last been here. The same king-size bed sat in the middle of the room covered by the same plain, navy blue comforter. Matching tables sat like bookends on either side with twin lamps. She had no right to snoop around his things, but voyeuristic need overrode her sense of propriety. A few feet inside the room, the door to the master bathroom stood open on the left. She paused to look inside. The products and toiletries lined along the sink were like intimate insights into his daily rituals. A towel was folded haphazardly and draped across the sink. Heat filled her chest cavity as her mind pictured him there, wrapped in a towel as he dragged a razor down the hard angle of his jaw. Such a simple task. Such a manly task. One that wives around the world watched their husbands do every single day, but not Elena. She’d never witnessed her husband engage in that particular act of grooming.

            Elena tore her eyes away, swallowed hard, and approached the bed. Only one side was disturbed or appeared like it was regularly slept on, and the relief that flooded through her at that thought was as swift as it was humiliating. A quick scan of the room revealed no evidence that a woman—a Michelle—regularly stayed there. Elena returned to the bathroom and studied the products on the sink again. All men’s things. No lotions or nail files or ponytail holders or boxes of tampons.

            But when she walked back out, the glint of gold caught her eye. She approached his dresser. And there, on top, discarded like yesterday’s mail, was his wedding ring.

            “You’re my best friend, Elena. I want to take care of you. Come to America. You can start over and make a new life.”

            “I don’t understand. What are you saying?”

            Vlad dug a pair of rings from the pocket of his jeans. One, a simple, manly gold band. The other, a circle of diamonds that twinkled in the light of the streetlamps above. Life moved in slow motion as he lowered to one knee.

            “I’m asking you to marry me.”

            She was so stunned that she couldn’t speak, and he took her silence as rejection. His cheeks blazed red as he stood. “I’m sorry. It’s stupid. Forget I said that. Or, maybe just think about it. I—”

            She whispered her answer. “Yes.”

            Her brain had revisited that moment so many times. Wondered how things might have been different if she’d said no. If she’d had the presence of mind to recognize her own vulnerable desperation and his eager generosity for what they really were—a toxic combination that was doomed to combust. Elena had long since accepted that she’d made the only decision she could at the time, but she had also wished a million times since then that she could go back and do things differently, to stop herself before she made selfish choices that would inevitably hurt him. She wouldn’t do that to him again. Maybe Claud was right. Maybe the best thing she could do for Vlad was to leave as soon as possible.