Chapter Three
"I BELIEVE WHAT YOU mean to say is a nightmare."
That's a very logical reply, and since logic and dreams can't coexist—
Well, there goes my theory then.
All of this...isn’t a dream.
It’s real.
A nightmare made real because...because...the shapes—
I only realize that my knees have completely given out under me when I find myself in Mr. Everford's arms in the next second.
"I'm s-so sorry—"
I'm stammering while turning red. I know this isn’t the way a woman my age should act. Yes, I've just caught my husband in bed with his intern—
Delia.
Her name pops in my mind, finally.
It was just so hard to think when I first saw them together, but now it’s as if my mind is suddenly working double time to remind me of all the things about her.
Delia.
The intern that Sandy first mentioned at dinner two months ago. The intern who doesn’t have family in town, and so I even remember making a mental note that time to invite the poor girl over for Christmas, but now the joke is on me because life...it just works like that at times, you know?
One moment, I’m several Pinterest photos deep while planning all the holiday parties I have to host at home. The next moment, I’ve been uninvited to my own future Christmas party because...because...
I think I need something else to think about.
Please, self.
Please give me something else to think—
"There's no need to apologize."
And there it is.
An answered prayer that tempts me to think my husband has been wrong all these years. He told me before that church is only for losers, and at that time I believed him.
"You asked for my help."
With our heads so close, Mr. Everford’s voice almost feels like I have an angel whispering straight to my ears.
A handsome angel who sounds just like James Bond, that is.
"And I chose to give it. So take the help you asked for."
The sound of voices reaches my ears as the elevator doors slide open, and I...just react without thinking.
I bury my head against his chest like a little chick burrowing into a cozy little nest, and I only realize what I've done when I feel his strong, hard chest vibrate against me in a silent chuckle.
What in the world are you doing, Nicole Petty—
Oh.
I've been Nicole Pettyfer for almost twenty years, but now I'm wondering how long that will last, and...
How long does it take to stop being someone?
How long does it take to not be Mrs. Pettyfer anymore?
No, no, no.
I really don't want to do this.
But it's just too late.
The tears are falling, and I can't seem to stop crying. His shirt has completely gone wet, and—
"It's okay."
He's speaking again.
My husband's boss.
"Cry as much as you want."
The words low enough that I know I'm the only one to hear it.
And somehow, this...just makes everything real.
Sandy and Tiny, I mean, Delia.
Their shapes under the covers.
In a room that I paid with my own money.
Money that I secretly worked so hard for because I wanted to surprise him with a suite upgrade.
And the moment I remember that...
It just hurts.
So, so much.
All I wanted was to surprise him.
All I wanted was to please him.
But instead...instead this.
How in the world did my life end up like this?
I only realize how hard I'm crying when he lowers me to my feet, and I can't...I can't even make myself care when I realize he's taken me to another suite.
I’ve never been alone in a room with any other man except for Sandy.
My husband.
And I’ve always thought that was true for Sandy, too, until...
Fingers cup my chin, and I find myself once again looking into a pair of blue eyes that seem oddly gentle...and fierce at the same time.
"He's not worth your tears, Nicole."
"I k-know." I try to smile. But fail. I try to stop crying, but I fail on that, too. "I w-wish I could stop—"
"I can help with that, too."
He can?
"Do you want me to help you to stop crying?"
I don't even have to think about this. I just want to stop hurting, and doesn't that happen once I stop crying? And so when I start to nod—
W-What in the world is he doing?
Why is his head starting to lower like...like he's going to kiss me?