Frayed Images

Chapter 1

H e's talking to her again.

I buried my nose in my wine glass before taking a big gulp of the formerly crisp liquid. I'd been enjoying it ten minutes ago, but it now sat on my tongue like vinegar.

I forced my attention away so that my husband and Carly were no longer in my eyeline. The last thing I wanted was for Drew's coworkers to start whispering about the lonely wife, openly glaring at her husband in the corner—insecurity written like a lit-up signpost all over her face.

It reminded me of that poignant scene from Love, Actually, where Emma Thompson's character dryly pointed out that her husband was dancing with his secretary more than anyone else. And to make it worse, just like that gut-wrenching scene, I was also stuck at my husband's Christmas party. What a cruel irony.

I was the discarded plus-one who had to stand in the periphery with a fixed smile as I discovered that my partner led a different life outside our home. Friends I'd never met. Jokes I didn't get. Shop talk that went over my head. Attractive colleagues who constantly touched my husband whenever he uttered something amusing. And going by how often Carly touched Drew, apparently, I'd been living with a comedian this whole time.

Thankfully, Drew wasn't stupid enough to actually be dancing with Carly. There was no way I would passively stand there and watch as they danced close enough to keep the Holy Ghost out.

A stranger looking in would probably see two colleagues indulging in free food and alcohol, gossiping in the corner about the terrible music and whether that report they needed to be done by Monday would make it to their weekly presentation. At least, that's what I hoped they were talking about—polite yet slightly drunk small talk.

Drew hadn't even noticed that I’d returned from the bathroom. I’d even had my drink refilled and had scoffed down a mini quiche I'd snatched from a floating waiter. I was now awkwardly swaying to a remixed version of Last Christmas . How long was I gone for? Ten minutes tops, thanks to the absence of lines. It sure didn't take long for Carly to swoop back in and monopolize his time. Didn't they see enough of each other at work? Didn't she encroach enough with her incessant text messages?

I knew he worked closely with Carly, but she wasn't the only manager he dealt with. He usually conferred with three other department heads, yet I'd only seen Drew exchange a few words with them tonight. Unease churned my stomach, and I downed another gulp of flat wine to smother my stray thoughts.

Did they message Drew after hours like Carly did?

I had dismissed their texts as friendly work-related chat, but after observing them together tonight, a quiet alarm started to sound off in my head.

I tapped my fingers against my glass as the music changed to another remixed Christmas song. I plastered on a small smile in an attempt to appear happy and relaxed. I even swayed along to the horrible music while continuously sipping at a wine I could no longer taste.

But inside, my gut was twisting in intuitive knots.

God, I hated intrusive thoughts. The last two years of my career had been riddled with anxiety, fear, and self-doubt. After working for a photography firm doing mundane jobs for five years, I finally decided to take the plunge and venture out on my own as a freelance photographer. A dream I'd carried since my dad bought me my first Canon EOS-1V.

I knew I had the skills, business acumen, and marketing plan to make it happen. I'd collected rave reviews from personal clients who'd kept their promises and followed me in my nerve-wracking endeavor. Truthfully, I could have and should have done this a long time ago. But fear and complacency held me back.

Turning thirty had given me some perspective. In hindsight, waiting until I reached a pivotal milestone in age to pursue my dreams was silly. But as I blew out my candles, the thought of my life extinguishing just as fast and never taking a risk suddenly seemed scarier to me than a life of safe choices and regrets.

Drew had been super supportive. My biggest cheerleader and hype man. "I've been telling you for ages that you should be working for yourself. You were wasted there," he'd praised me.

"We can finally buy a house and start trying," I’d gushed as I snuggled up to him. "With my flexible hours, I could be home with our baby."

It took me two years to overcome the fear that I'd fail at freelance work.

What if no one wants to book me?

What if everyone hates the way I photograph?

What if someone blasts me on one of those Facebook wedding group pages and tanks my credibility?

They were intrusive fears that I’d conquered and overcome, and they rarely affected me anymore.

But now, there was something new to obsess over.

Is my husband attracted to another woman?

Is he having an affair?

I placed my empty glass on a nearby table and smoothed down my black dress with a not-quite-steady hand. As quickly as those terrible intrusive thoughts entered, I swiftly dismissed them. Sure, things had become a little strained between us over the last year, but it was normal for couples to have their peaks and lows. I wouldn't even call this a low, just…communicatively challenged.

Our sex life was still great. It wasn’t as active as I would like it to be—but then we did operate on differing work hours. But when our hormones and timelines did align—the sex was still as explosively hot as ever. Even though we'd been together for twelve years, Drew could still get me off without issue.

Maybe we just needed to get away for a bit to reconnect. We could re-start that baby-making we'd been circling around for years.

"Hey, babe."

My husband's deep voice interrupted my troubled thoughts, pricking them away. His spicy cologne reached me first before I was enveloped in his strong warmth. His arm slid over my shoulder, and a soft kiss pressed against the side of my head. I closed my eyes, comforted, as I snuggled deeper into his arms. The free beer he'd been sinking all night glazed his warm chocolate eyes, and his full mouth curved in that familiar boyish grin that made my stomach flutter. I returned his smile, my earlier trepidation fading as I leaned up to accept his kiss. It was then that I noticed the figure planted at his side.

Carly.

Her polite smile didn't quite reach her eyes as she intruded in our private clinch. That pit of unease started to form again.

"Oh. Hello," I greeted, not wanting to appear rude.

Drew swiftly turned, his eyes widening slightly when they landed on Carly lurking beside him. He quickly replaced his surprise with a welcoming smile.

"Babe, you've met Carly, right?"

Yes, I'd certainly met Carly . When we'd arrived at the venue, Drew had ushered me towards a small group of people. I shook a few hands as names flew out of my head just as quickly as they were uttered. But the one name I couldn't forget? Carly.

As soon as Drew introduced her, my antenna went up. After all, it was a name I'd seen far too many times on his phone. Her name was also quick to like any pictures Drew posted on his social media profile.

Her handshake had been limp and damp, and I ignored the urge to wipe my hand down my leg. Her smile had been friendly enough, but I didn't miss the subtle flicker of curiosity in her blue-eyed gaze—and the barest flash of some twisting emotion that raised my internal alarms. We didn't say more than two words to each other, yet I could feel her critical eye picking me apart.

My grip tightened around Drew, reassured by his hand softly stroking my neck. My mouth strained with the effort it took to keep a smile on my face. "Yes, briefly when we first arrived. Nice to meet you again."

"It's great to finally meet you!" Her voice carried over the music. Christ, I hoped my smile didn't look as forced as hers. Carly's heavily made-up eyes perused the length of me, and I had to fight not to squirm under her lingering scrutiny. "Gosh, I love your dress!"

Too much, Carly.

As quickly as that scathing thought appeared, I immediately felt bad. It wasn't in my nature to be a bitch, even in my own head. Maybe I had it wrong, and my own insecurities were projecting to Carly. Maybe she really was trying to be nice.

"Thank you. I love yours, too," I politely returned.

She really did look good in a red sparkly dress with sky-high black heels. How old was she? She didn't look that much younger than me. Even in my petty state, I could admit she was a very attractive woman with her shoulder-length blonde hair and vivid blue eyes. Her slim shoulders had a smattering of freckles. She was a sharp contrast to my long black hair, dark brown eyes, and olive complexion—a nod to my Polynesian heritage.

"Thanks," she laughed before gesturing down to her feet. "Although these shoes are killing me."

With a huff, Carly grasped my husband's arm, bending down to adjust her black pumps. Her plunging neckline dipped further, her cleavage in danger of spilling over completely. I was stunned speechless as she fiddled with the strap of her shoe, my brow lifting at her audacity. Carly didn't need to do jack shit to her heels, but she was committed to the part as she continued to jiggle at her strap, her red-painted nails still firmly clasped on my husband.

I snuck a look at Drew, noting his averted gaze. Was it the lighting, or were his cheeks flushed?

With a small grunt, Carly finally righted herself and removed her claws from Drew's arm with a lingering pat. I didn't know what game she thought she was playing, but the rules were quickly becoming clear.

"So, Frankie." With her show over, her attention fixed back to me. "What is it that you do?"

I wasn't happy that her body was so close to my husband's. Feeling petulant and needing to prove a point, I slid my hand over his stomach, ensuring she caught my wedding and engagement rings. Her lips pursed.

"I'm a freelance photographer."

"Oh, cute! What kind of photography? Are you in any magazines?"

"No. I mainly do weddings, family portraits, Bar Mitzvahs, engagement parties," I shrugged. "That kind of thing."

"Oh. Cool." I ignored her dismissive tone. "Maybe we should've hired her to take photos at our Christmas party." She giggled and smacked Drew’s arm.

I stiffened and Drew tightened his grip on my shoulder. "Frankie's an awesome photographer," he swiftly inserted. He smiled down at me. "She's booked out solid for the next three months." There was no mistaking the pride in his voice, and my body relaxed under his praise.

"That's how we met," I offered, even though she didn't ask. "Drew and I were both studying media and communications. He followed into cinematography while I focused on photography."

She raised a brow at him. "I didn't know that."

That, I was glad to hear. It was reassuring that their conversations weren't intimate enough to exchange life stories. Maybe they did just talk shop.

Drew shrugged a broad shoulder. "It's more of a hobby now."

I glanced up at him with a furrowed brow. I didn’t like how dismissive he sounded about something I knew he was passionate about.

"Yeah. I figured that didn't sound like you." Her high-pitched laugh grated on me. Almost as much as the rumble of laughter I felt in Drew's chest.

It was on the tip of my tongue to call him out until Carly let out a squeal that pierced my drum.

"I love this song! Do you mind if I borrow Andrew?" Andrew? Oh, hell no. But she was already dragging him away without pausing for my response. "He promised a dance with me."

My brow raised, and I kept my hand tight on Drew, refusing to let go. I didn't mind if my husband danced with another woman. After all, I'd danced with other men in a purely platonic manner. But the songs were usually dance tracks where we could laugh together while we danced in a respectful distance.

While this particular song wasn't slow, the lyrics certainly raised cause for concern. Over my dead body would I allow Andrew to dance with another woman while the singer crooned about being in love with the shape of a woman's body. Especially when the woman in question was Carly. I held a firm grip on Drew's elbow to keep him in place. By my side.

Drew wasn't stupid and didn't need my death glare to turn her down. His laugh was gruff and apologetic as he carefully extracted his arm out of her hand. "Maybe next time, Car."

There wasn't going to be a next time. I'd make sure of that.

"Oh, come on." She grabbed his hand again and attempted to drag him to the floor. There was barely anyone dancing, and the ones who were were clearly romantic partners.

Drew again pulled away, his face reddening with discomfort. "Tony's standing there." He nodded towards a man standing at the edge of the dance floor with a beer in hand. "Why don't you dance with him?"

She pouted, her eyes flashing with some indiscernible fiery gleam. "Fine," she shrugged carelessly, although a red smattering had crept up her cheeks. She swung on her heel and sauntered off. Was it just me, or did she exaggeratedly sway her hips?

Even though I was relieved Drew turned her down, I still couldn’t quell that uneasy feeling.

Drew cleared his throat. "You okay?"

I swallowed past the lump of anxiety in my throat. "Yeah."