Marissa Farrell had it all, and nearly lost everything with a single devastating diagnosis—breast cancer.
Many difficult months later, she wants to celebrate her triumph over the disease by losing herself in her husband’s arms. Massive self-doubt since her surgeries, however, makes it impossible for Marissa to share her body with Jason. She knows it’s only a matter of time before she loses him to a woman who hasn’t been stitched together like a patchwork doll.
But Jason wants—needs—his wife back. When other methods to prove his desire fail, desperation prompts Jason to book an appointment at La Maison, an exclusive adults-only club that caters to sexual fantasies. Making love in a room of mirrors, with an audience, might help Marissa see her body as Jason does—beautiful in every way.
If the bold plan doesn’t shatter what’s left of her self-confidence and destroy their marriage for good.
Read an Excerpt
No, life without mirrors was considerably better than the alternative. She’d asked Jason to remove the one from the bathroom, too, but he wouldn’t hear of it. So she’d learned to keep her gaze averted when she came out of the shower, and she’d become intimately familiar with the inside of the sink when she brushed her teeth.
But now… Well, she couldn’t avoid the damn mirror any longer.
Humming a little tune for courage, Marissa turned on the bathroom light. She stared at the towels hanging neatly on the rack, at the three different kinds of bubble bath sitting on a glass shelf, at the lace curtains covering the tiny window on the far wall.
And then, slowly, she turned around and faced her nemesis full-on.
Her eyes filled with tears. Fat drops fell unheeded down her cheeks as she stared at her body encased in see-through fabric.
The G-string looked fine. Better than fine, in fact, but she barely gave it a second glance. There’d been a time when she would have tugged and pulled on the material and sucked in her stomach for a flatter profile. Now her attention was fully fixed on her breasts.
The scar that ran from underneath her left armpit disappeared beneath the edge of the bra, but she could still see it, outlined in the nearly transparent mesh, like a wine stain on a white shirt.
It was jagged and dark, mirroring the horizontal slash across her lower abdomen. The doctors had used some of her own tissue to rebuild her breast, and they’d taken it from her stomach.
Dr. Jones had said the scars would fade in time. She’d assured Marissa that in a few years they wouldn’t look nearly as noticeable. But who had years to wait?
Almost six months had passed since the surgery. Jason had been incredibly supportive, patient and understanding throughout the entire ordeal. He’d been her rock, and she didn’t think she’d have made it through without him. But she knew he was losing patience. How could he not? At some point early on in her battle with cancer, being intimate had taken on a whole new meaning. Instead of sweaty lovemaking and carnal whispers, it had transformed into holding hands and pecks on the cheek.
This wasn’t a marriage, and whatever their relationship had turned into wouldn’t last much longer.