Desired by the Billionaire Playboy

Emily's pov

"Perfect," I smiled to myself after lighting the scented candle and backing away to admire my work. A romantic steak dinner with wine and rose flower petals scattered on a fresh floral tablecloth. Tonight was my fifth wedding anniversary to Brad Winchester, the love of my life. He already gave me a heads up that we wouldn't be able to go to a restaurant this time, he lost a big project recently, and his agency took a hit.

I didn't want to be selfish. For the first two years of our marriage, he forgot our anniversary. For the third, he bought me gas station flowers and convenience store chocolates. Then last year, he took me to a two-star restaurant. The food honestly tasted like rat piss, but I smiled through it all. He was just going through a tough time, and as his wife, I was supposed to support him, so tonight I made this surprise dinner that I'd been planning for weeks.

Now that I was done, I took off my apron and wiped my hands clean of any residue of cooking before rushing to our bedroom. I threw the door open, and what I saw made my smile shrink instantly.

He was already fully dressed in a suit and was just struggling with his tie.

I held the door for support.

"Honey?" I called out loud enough for him to hear, but he barely acknowledged it. Maybe I wasn't loud enough.

"Honey?!" I said, increasing my voice and even stepping closer. He sighed heavily like a weight had been thrust on his shoulders.

"What now, Emily? Can't you see I'm busy?"

I gulped.

"Are you heading out?" I asked, hoping that he'd say no. After the first two years of forgotten anniversaries, I made sure that I plastered reminders everywhere on the fridge, in his folders and his lunchbox for work. I would even call his Secretary and tell her not to place anything on that day that would lead to him working overtime.

There was no stone left unturned to make sure he remembered what today was, yet he looked at me irritatedly and groaned out, "There's an emergency at the office, I'm heading out.”

As he was about to walk past me, I held him back by his arm.

"Can't somebody else handle it?" I asked, my voice cracking. I didn't demand his attention on any other day of the year. He was always working late nights, and when he came back home, he would already be exhausted and pass out in a second. All I asked was for one day out of more than a thousand for my husband to come back home at night and just choose me.

He shrugged off my hand like I was infectious.

"Does everything have to always be about you, Emily?"

The air fell silent.

His callous remark hit me like a slap on the face, and I nearly staggered backwards. He hardly noticed and kept marching forward. He wanted a glass of water since he gets thirsty often, and I was behind him when he noticed the dinner laid out. He was transfixed to the spot until I walked past him, noticing a flicker of guilt in his eyes.

"You made all of this?" He said, disbelief echoing through his tone.

"Yes," I admitted, feeling embarrassed for some reason. "After you told me that there wouldn't be enough money for us to go out, I thought I'd surprise you with this."

He didn't say anything, he just stared at the table for so long, watching the candles turn to wax. I thought this would continue as a beautiful memory. That he'd look at me and say there was nothing more important than our anniversary. And that we'd sit together and have a beautiful romantic dinner, and afterwards

But this beep from his pocket shattered my moment. He dug out his phone, and after his eyes scrolled through, they hardened again like those of an angry bird.

"Sorry… Em… but they really need me at the office right now..." His eyes slid across the table, "Now I feel awful. Why would you do all of this without telling me?"

My legs became wobbly and I started to sweat. He was the one who was abandoning me on the night of our wedding anniversary, and yet I was the bad guy for making a surprise. This was a routine for us, a painful one on my side. I would tell Brad what was bothering me, and before I knew it, it was my fault somehow.

Tears began to well up in my eyes, and he rolled his eyes with annoyance.

"This is something I just can't stand about you. I'm trying to have a normal conversation, and then you start crying out of the blue. What's wrong with you?" His voice shot up, as if yelling at me was supposed to make it better.

I tried to speak, but my words were choked and drowned by the tears. I knew if I said a word, just a single word, the tears I've been holding back would find their way down my cheeks.

"Just put them in the fridge," he added, heading towards the door. "If I'm able to come back tonight, we'll heat up and eat. It's not a big deal."

With my mouth wide open, he was gone, and the food I had been craving looked terrible in my eyes. I lost my appetite and I didn't feel like eating the steak or even anything at that moment. I packed it up to put in the fridge. Then, I remembered the look on his face. There was no gratitude for the hours of painstaking efforts I put into making us this dinner; only a brief second of guilt before turning it around and blaming me. I trashed the steak, feeling my guilt for wasting food, but in too much anger to properly care.

I watched the light of the candlestick slowly die away.

Just like the spark in my marriage.

Then I trudged to where my phone was lying, trying to take my mind off the whole thing. A text swooshed in. It was from my best friend, Wendy Reeds.

I called her back, and she immediately knew something was up because I was more of a texter than a caller. I tried to keep it to myself, but ended up spilling everything.

"Okay, girl, I've got two things to say to you: One, a black dress, and two, Blue Haven hotel bar."