Chapter 5
five
I wait until Grant leaves for work because I message his mistress.
That sentence should feel stranger than it does.
It’s Monday morning.
Ava forgets her lunch on the kitchen counter.
Miles cannot find his left shoe.
Grant drinks half a cup of coffee, kisses the air near my cheek, and tells me he has back-to-back meetings.
He’s wearing the gray suit Sienna complimented in one of the messages I saw.
I know because I have the message memorized.
Wear the gray one. You look DANGEROUS in it.
Followed by a bunch of hearts, water droplets, and other emojis that aren’t supposed to have the meaning they do in the message.
Truthfully, Grant does not look dangerous.
He looks like a man who believes matching socks qualify as preparation.
“Late tonight,” he says.
“Of course.”
He pauses at the door.
Something in my voice catches his attention. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’ll save you dinner.”
His expression relaxes. He likes that answer.
Dinner waiting. Children handled.
Wife exactly where he left her.
“Love you,” he says.
I look at him. “Drive safe.”
Grant hesitates. Then leaves.
I get both children out the door, return Ava’s lunch to the school office, find Miles’s shoe beneath the couch, and sit at the kitchen table with my phone.
Sienna’s profile is still open.
Her smile is perfect.
Her life appears to consist of rooftops, expensive drinks, hotel mirrors, and lighting that never exposes a pore.
I press… MESSAGE.
I stare at the empty box.
There are many ways to introduce yourself to the woman sleeping with your husband.
Most of them involve threats.
I type…
This is Tessa… obviously. We need to talk about Grant.
I send it before I can improve it.
The message shows as read just seconds later.
She’s typing.
Then stops.
Then starts again.
Finally, a message comes through.
I don’t think that’s a good idea.
I almost admire the restraint.
I have the perfect response.
Neither was sleeping with him. We’re both here now.
There’s no answer.
I put my phone down and load the dishwasher.
A plate slips from my hand and hits the sink too hard.
It does not break.
Of course it doesn’t.
Nothing in this house breaks when I need it to.
My phone buzzes.
It’s Sienna.
He told me you knew.
There it is.
The oldest lie told by married men and believed by women who desperately want it to be true.
I dry my hands.
I didn’t.
The reply comes quicker now.
He said the marriage was over.
I shake my head.
It wasn’t, Sienna.
Another fast response.
He said you were staying together for the kids.
I curl my lip.
Using the kids, Grant?
He came home Saturday and asked me to buy beer. Does that sound separated to you?
I wait.
Sienna has one last reply.
Can we meet?
I choose a coffee shop twenty minutes away.
Public. Neutral.
Far enough from Grant’s office that no one should recognize us.
Sienna arrives twelve minutes late wearing black pants, a cream blouse, and sunglasses large enough to hide regret.
She removes them when she reaches the table.
Her eyes are red.
Good.
I don’t want her destroyed.
I want her uncomfortable.
There is a difference.
“Tessa.”
“Sienna.”
She sits across from me.
Up close, she looks younger than I thought.
Not child young.
Just young enough to believe a man’s dissatisfaction makes him deep.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“Whether you’re sorry you did it or sorry I found out.”
Her mouth tightens.
At least she has the decency not to lie immediately.
“I believed him,” she says.
“You wanted to.
“Yes.”
The answer surprises me.
I expected excuses.
She folds her hands around her coffee. “He said you hadn’t been happy in years.”
“Did he?”
“He said you barely spoke unless it was about the children or the business.”
Grant turns every conversation into sports, work, or what we need from the grocery store, then tells another woman I have nothing interesting to say.
“He said you slept in separate rooms,” Sienna continues.
“We don’t.”
“He said you stopped touching him.”
I think of Grant reaching for me after coming home from her bed.
“I stopped wanting sex at midnight after doing everything alone all day.”
Sienna looks down. “He said you hated him.”
“No. That would have been easier.”
Her eyes lift.
For one second, neither of us speaks.
Then she reaches for her phone.
“How long have you known?”
“Since Saturday,” I reply.
Her face changes. “You message me two days after finding out?”
“I had errands.”
That is not a joke.
Sienna almost smiles anyway.
It dies quickly.
“He said he was leaving after the Brighton deal closes.”
The Brighton Deal.
Grant has spent six months talking about it as though he is personally rebuilding the city.
“When?” I ask.
“Next month.”
“He told you he was announcing the split?”
“Yes.”
“Did he show you papers?”
“No.”
“A lease…?”
“No.”
“An email from an attorney?”
“No.” Her cheeks color. “He said you control the money.”
“I manage it.”
“He said you’d destroy the company if he left.”
“I may destroy it because he stayed.”
Sienna leans back.
That frightens her.
Good.
“How long for you two?” I ask.
She looks toward the window. “Six months.”
My fingers go cold around the paper cup.
Six months.
Christmas.
Ava’s birthday.
Miles’s school concert.
Our anniversary.
Grant has been touching Sienna through all of it.
“How often?”
“I don’t know.”
“You know.”
“Once or twice a week.”
My stomach turns.
I let it.
Pain is information.
Nothing more.
“Hotels?”
“Yes.”
“The office?”
Her silence answers.
“My house?”
“No.” That comes fast. Certain. “I would never.”
I look at her.
She hears it too.
The ridiculous border she has drawn around her morality.
She will sleep with my husband.
Just not in my bed.
“How generous,” I say.
“I didn’t mean…”
“I know what you meant.”
Sienna presses her lips together. “He told me you didn’t care.”
“Did you ever ask me?”
“No.”
“Then you didn’t care whether I cared.”
Her eyes shine.
I do not soften.
Sienna is not the villain Brooke is.
She is still not innocent.
“What do you want?” Sienna asks.
“The truth.”
“I’m giving it to you.”
“All of it.”
She unlocks her phone.
Messages.
Photographs.
Hotel confirmations.
Reservations.
Promises.
Grant calls her beautiful.
Grant calls me cold.
Grant tells her he has never felt understood before.
My husband has apparently spent six months speaking exclusively in clichés.
Sienna scrolls. “I saved everything.”
“Why?”
“I think part of me knew.”
“Part of you hoped.”
She nods.
That, at least, is honest.
I take pictures of the dates and message with my phone.
I do not read the intimate details.
I do not look at the photographs.
I know what sex looks like.
I know what betrayal feels like.
Neither requires documentation beyond the minimum.
Then I see Brooke’s name.
A message from Grant to Sienna.
Brooke handled it. Tessa thinks I was with her.
Sienna’s response: You pay her for that?
Grant’s response: Everyone has a price.
I stare at the screen.
My husband believes this.
Not just about Brooke.
About everyone.
He thinks loyalty is a service.
Trust is a transaction.
Women are expenses that can be managed.
“How much do you know about Brooke?” I ask.
“Only that she covers for him.”
“Did you ever meet her?”
“Once?”
“Where?”
“Hotel bar.”
The answer lands wrong.
“Why?” I ask.
“Grant said she needed to see us together.”
I go still.
Sienna notices. “He wanted her to understand what she was covering.”
“And she stayed?”
“Yes.”
“Did she say anything?”
“She asked how long it would last.”
My best friend met my husband’s mistress.
She looked at Sienna’s face.
Heard her voice.
Saw what Grant bought with each eight-hundred-dollar payment.
And then she continued.
Sienna takes her phone away. “What are you going to do?”
I look at the woman who helped my husband betray me.
She looks scared.
Not of Grant.
Of me.
Good.
“The next time he messages you,” I say, “ answer.”
Her brows pull together. “What?”
“If he asks to see you, say yes.”
“You want me to keep sleeping with him?”
“No. I want him to believe you will.”
Sienna studies my face. “And then?”
“Then you do exactly what he expects.”
“What does he expect?”
“That the woman in his life will keep making this easy.”
I stand.
Sienna does not.
She looks down at her phone. “I really am sorry.”
“I believe you,” I say. I pick up my bag. “That does not mean I forgive you.”
I leave her at the table and walk into the sunlight.
Grant thinks he is managing three women.
He has no idea two of us have started talking.