He Opened Our Marriage for Her (The Wives Who Walked Away #2)

Chapter 1

My husband’s mistress was drinking from our wedding crystal.

I noticed the glass before I noticed her.

It was one of the Waterford goblets Bennett’s mother had given us twenty years ago, back when she still believed a married woman’s success could be measured by the quality of the things she was afraid to break. We owned twelve. Eleven lived behind glass in the dining room cabinet.

The twelfth was in the hand of a woman sitting at my table.

Bennett stood when I walked in. “You’re home.”

It was nearly eleven on a Thursday night. I’d spent the day at the Halston overseeing the opening of Evelyn’s completed east wing, then stayed for the champagne reception because my company had produced the event. Bennett knew exactly where I’d been and when I was due back.

“That’s generally what happens when I put my key in my front door.”

The woman looked younger than me, late thirties perhaps, with dark hair and a cream silk blouse.

A camel coat hung over the chair beside her.

A small black overnight bag sat at the foot of the stairs.

I was still in the green wrap dress I'd worn to Evelyn's hotel opening, with a sealed envelope from Elise in my handbag.

Bennett came around the table, stopping before he reached me. “I texted you.”

“You said you wanted to talk when I got home.” I set my clutch on the console table. “You didn’t say I should expect a guest.”

“I knew you’d react like this.”

“I’ve taken off my coat, Bennett.”

The woman placed the glass down with care. My Waterford made a small, expensive click against the oak.

“Claire, this is Laurel Shaw.”

Laurel stood. She was almost my height in low heels, and she looked directly at me. I gave her credit for that, although I wasn’t feeling generous enough to give her anything else.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought you knew I was coming.”

“She did know,” Bennett said.

We both looked at him.

He rubbed the back of his neck. The gesture had once meant he was nervous. Over the past month, I’d learned it usually meant he wanted me to make something easier for him.

“I told you we needed to finish the conversation,” he said.

Four weeks earlier, my husband of twenty years had said our marriage had become predictable.

He wanted freedom, new experiences and the chance for both of us to discover who we were outside our habits.

Lots of couples opened their marriages, he'd said.

There was no other woman. He repeated that part so often it began to sound rehearsed.

I looked at Laurel's overnight bag.

“How long have you two known each other?” I asked.

“About eight months,” Bennett said.

I kept my attention on Laurel. “I asked you.”

Her fingers tightened around the back of the chair. “Since November.”

Ten months.

Bennett’s answer had shaved off two of them. Not much, if you were discussing a marriage. Plenty, if you were trying to make a lie easier to swallow.

“We met through work,” he said. “Laurel consulted on the Hensley rebrand. I’ve told you about her.”

He had. A branding consultant who understood how people made decisions before they admitted what they wanted. I remembered Bennett saying she was brilliant.

I also remembered sending champagne to his office after the Hensley placement closed. He’d texted to say the team loved it.

I wondered whether Laurel had drunk from one of those glasses too.

“Claire,” she began.

Bennett cut in. “Can we sit down?”

He pulled out my chair.

It was the chair at the head of the table, the one Bennett treated as his place although I'd owned the table before I met him. My father and I had carried it into my first Brooklyn apartment while my mother followed with sandwiches. After they died, Bennett suggested replacing it. I'd said no.

I crossed the room and sat opposite Laurel instead.

Bennett remained standing for a second, his hand still on the empty chair. Then he took his usual place and leaned toward me.

“I didn’t plan for you to meet like this.”

“Who did?”

His eyes flicked toward Laurel. Hers stayed on me.

“You’ve put this off for a month,” he said. “Every time I ask whether you’ve thought about what I proposed, you tell me you need more time. Tonight felt like a chance to stop making it theoretical.”

“By bringing the theory into my dining room?”

“Our dining room.”

There it was. A correction delivered out of habit, as if ownership were the most important question on the table.

“Nothing has happened here,” he said quickly. “I need you to understand that. Laurel came over because I thought the three of us should talk honestly.”

Laurel looked at him. “You said she was ready.”

“She is. She’s frightened, which is understandable.”

“Please stop explaining me to your girlfriend.”

“I haven’t called her that.”

“What do you call her?”

He gave a short laugh that asked me to find all this slightly embarrassing rather than obscene. “We don’t need labels.”

“Convenient.”

“This is exactly why I wanted us face-to-face. You’re imagining something sordid when it doesn’t have to be. Laurel respects our marriage.”

The woman in question glanced at the overnight bag as if seeing it for the first time.

I reached for the water carafe, then stopped. Three place settings had been laid out. Bennett hadn’t simply let Laurel in. He’d prepared for me to join them.

He'd laid three places with our holiday linen and inherited silver. He'd staged an intimate dinner in my home and expected my professional instincts to appreciate the effort.

“What did you tell her?” I asked.

“We’ve discussed the same things you and I discussed.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

“I told her our marriage is strong enough to be honest about what we need.”

Laurel’s expression changed. Only slightly, but I saw it. Confusion first, then caution.

“Did you tell her I agreed to this?”

“You agreed to consider it.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

Bennett pushed his chair back and stood. “I’m opening wine.”

He took the wine I'd bought for our postponed anniversary trip. The cork split as Bennett pulled it free.

For twenty years, I had fixed problems before Bennett noticed them. I remembered birthdays, changed menus, moved flights and carried whatever anyone might need. Bennett handed me broken corks too.

I didn’t get up.

“I can go,” Laurel said.

“No,” Bennett replied.

I reached into my handbag and removed Elise’s envelope.

His gaze dropped to the name embossed in the upper corner:

ELISE MORGAN

MORGAN FAMILY LAW

His face altered before he could stop it.

“Why have you spoken to a divorce attorney?”

The bottle was still in his hand. Between us, the wine stain slowly spread across the white linen.

I placed the unopened envelope between us.

“All right,” I said. “Let’s discuss the marriage you’ve already opened.”