I don't know where this falls in the time line of ex-husband!simon but he's been brewing in my mind and I love him so much. You can read the first part here: patching up exhusband!simon and as always thank you for reading!!
& lmk what you guys think about ex-husband!simon.
thinking about the night of your first date out while "single." You sigh, putting the car in park and resting your forehead against the steering wheel. Jeff. That was his name, right? He wasn’t a bad guy—asked the right questions, paid for dinner, had a steady job that kept him local. A fine first date. Predictable. Safe.
Then why did it feel so… empty?
Rubbing your temples, you tell yourself this is for the best. Stability. Normalcy. That’s what you need. What you deserve, too. Maybe, in time, you’d even believe it. Sliding your key into the door, you frown. It doesn’t click. A chill slithers down your spine as you push it open, your stomach knotting at the sight of the dim light bleeding into the hallway from your bedroom.
You already know who’s inside.
Your breath hitches as you swing the door open, and there he is—Simon, sitting on the edge of your bed, his broad shoulders hunched slightly forward. The faint gleam of metal catches your eye. Your engagement ring. It rolls fluidly between his fingers, like a an awful habit he never broke.
His gaze lifts, pinning you in place.
"Took it off, did ya?" His voice is eerily calm, but there’s something coiled beneath it, something ready to snap. "Wonder if he knows you still wear my name."
Your stomach tightens. You take a good look at him—really look at him—and the past five months apart have not been kind. His beard is thicker, his jaw sharper, his frame even larger than you remember. Like he’s been drowning in something darker than loneliness.
"Simon, I’m not in the mood. You can't be in here, shouldn't be in here." Your voice is firm, though your chest heaves with the effort to keep it that way. "Just because you refuse to sign the papers doesn’t mean we’re still together."
A slow, humorless chuckle rumbles from his chest. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and lets the ring settle in his palm before closing his fingers around it.
"That’s where you’re wrong, love."
He stands, and in an instant, he’s in front of you, so close you can feel the heat radiating off his body. His scent—familiar, overwhelming—wraps around you like a pretty string tied in a bow.
His hand trails up your arm, slow, deliberate, until his fingers ghost over your pulse. His eyes drop to your lips, then flick back up, dark and unreadable. The silence was deafening. It was as if he knew the power he still had over you, or at least your body. Simon wedges his muscular thigh between your legs, and your hips buck ever so slightly.
You whimper and he smirks, knowing your body would never betray his.
"You think a piece of paper makes you any less mine?" His grip tightens, not enough to hurt—but enough to remind you just how easy it would be.
"Any less of a Riley?"
You swallow hard. He leans in, lips a breath away from your ear.
"Tell me, dove— and he honest, because you know I hate liars, did he make you feel anything at all?"
