The Husband Blair Doesn't Remember

CHAPTER ONE

Blair

The restaurant was perfect. There was just the right touch of atmospheric lighting.

There was light soothing jazz coming from the pianist in the corner.

It wasn’t invasive; it just added to the ambiance.

Couples were quietly enjoying time with each other.

I looked around, my eyes landing on a couple here and there and wondering what their love story was.

There was a bottle of champagne chilling on the table. The waitstaff was hurrying around, sharply dressed and professional. I had a glass of pinot grigio that I was sipping on, and honestly just enjoying the time to myself. I didn’t get much of that.

The smells coming from the kitchen were amazing, and I noticed that every dish that came out on a waiter’s cart or tray looked delectable.

I’d been so excited to get a reservation for this place.

I was sitting by myself at a table for two at a well-known Italian restaurant just outside Atlanta.

It wasn’t new, but it was so popular it took months to get a table.

I’d thought ahead of time and was so glad I had. It was very romantic.

Scott and I had been wanting to try this place for years. But when you have six young children, it takes some juggling to get everything lined up for a couple’s night out. Carrie and Thatcher were watching the kids. They were having a big slumber party, and we would go pick them up the next day.

Everything was perfect.

Except for the fact that I was alone. I glanced at my watch again. Scott was beyond fashionably late at this point. I’d been understanding when he’d said he couldn’t make the drive with me and would have to meet me there. Disappointed, sure, but understanding.

With Scott, I was always the one who had to be understanding.

He’d texted with me to let me know he was looking forward to the evening—and what came after it—but that he’d gotten held up at work. Of course he had. I’d told him fine, but to stay in touch with me so I’d know when he would be getting there.

And since then? Radio silence.

I told myself to just relax and enjoy the evening. He would get here when he got here.

After thirty more minutes went by and we were pushing forty-five minutes without him even being here, I was less magnanimous. Scott hadn’t even sent a text. My calls were going straight to voicemail, too.

“Ma’am, would you like to go ahead and order?”

I looked up into the pleasant face of the handsome waiter and smiled apologetically. “I am so sorry. I don’t know what’s keeping my husband. Could I go ahead and get an order of bruschetta? And another glass of wine, please?”

I had reservations for the night at an upscale hotel across the street.

I’d parked, checked in, and then walked to the restaurant.

I could drink the whole bottle of champagne since I didn’t have to drive.

I eyed it. Well. Maybe not the whole bottle.

I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to walk across the road if I did that.

Several more minutes went past, and I’d decided to give up on Scott. When the waiter returned with the appetizer and wine, I’d order my dinner and try to enjoy myself.

It didn’t feel good being stood up by the man I’d married fifteen years ago.

Tonight was our anniversary. I had been pretty sure he hadn’t remembered. Now, I was positive. I’d gotten him a pair of cufflinks he’d pointed out months ago. I knew he wouldn’t be giving me anything. But hadn’t I already known that?

Christmases, birthdays, Mother’s Days, Valentine’s Days, and so on, Scott would just transfer a few thousand dollars to the household account and tell me to get something nice.

He put no thought into it whatsoever, like it was a bother.

It was just one more thing that I could point to in the slow, torturous decline of our marriage.

I couldn’t do it anymore. I put my face in my hands briefly, before trying to appear like a normal person.

“Hey, babe,” his deep voice was accompanied by a swift kiss to the top of my head. I looked up, shocked. He’d made it after all.

He sat down across from me and rolled his sleeves up. Even as mad at him as I was, a shiver of desire went through me. I loved his forearms. They were so… masculine.

He knew how they affected me, too. He’d probably done it on purpose to distract me from how late he was.

I met his eyes and saw that was exactly what it was. He looked guilty. “Sorry I’m late.”

I just leveled him with a look. I opened my mouth to ask why he couldn’t have texted me but was interrupted by the waiter.

“Oh, hello. I’m so glad to see that you’re here.

” There was a slight edge to the waiter’s tone, and I looked up in surprise.

He was looking at Scott as if he didn’t like him very much.

Damn. A lot of my friends had come to that conclusion.

But they’d taken a little longer to get there.

“It would be a crime for such a beautiful woman to eat by herself.”

Scott frowned, while I blushed. The way the waiter was looking at me let me know he was being totally authentic. At least one man was into me tonight.

“I’d assume you want a minute to go over the menu…”

“I’ll have the lasagna,” Scott said without even looking at the menu at all.

“The passatelli, please, with the rosemary cream sauce and black truffle shavings.”

Scott stared at me.

I leaned forward. “This is an authentic Italian restaurant. You should really look at the menu. There are so many things they serve that we don’t usually get in America, like…”

He cut me off. “Just the lasagna is fine. Oh, and some calamari.” He gave the waiter a tight smile and waited for him to leave. Then he looked at me almost accusingly. “Did that asshole hit on you?”

I shook my head. “No. Not at all. I think he just felt sorry for me that I sat here alone for an hour waiting on you to get here.”

Scott didn’t even look that upset. “Yeah, well, the root canal went long.”

“Ah.” I knew Scott scheduled those sorts of surgeries for the mornings. This night was getting worse and worse. Now he was lying to me.

My heart sank. I’d been through this before.

He looked around, drinking the champagne the waiter uncorked. “This place is nice. How’d you hear about it?”

I stared at him. “This is that place, Scott. The one we always said we’d go to when we actually had money to spend on a gourmet meal. Remember? Then once we had the money, there never seemed to be time. I called months ago to get the reservation.”

“Hmm.”

I could tell he didn’t remember.

“Did it take long to get in?”

“Are you listening? I just said I called months in advance. Yes, it took a long time to get in, especially since I wanted this date specifically.”

He went still. “This date?” There was a flicker of panic in his eyes, but I could tell he didn’t want to admit that he had no idea what I was talking about.

“Yes, of course.” I smiled at him. It was fake, and he could probably tell.

“Right, right,” he murmured. I could see the wheels turning as he tried to figure out what in the world I was talking about.

“I called you several times. Why didn’t you answer?”

“Ah, sorry. Listening to the Braves’ game.” He was looking around the restaurant as if trying to find a clue as to what date it was.

“I hated having to drive separately,” I admitted. “And couldn’t you have at least texted to let me know you were on your way? I sat here for an hour,” I whispered and leaned in for emphasis.

“So you’ve said,” he replied, and I could feel my blood starting to boil. I doubted he’d wait on me longer than ten minutes.

I sighed and then decided to make the best of it.

“Well, you’re here now.” I smiled. “Plus, we’ll be kid free for the next two nights.

We’re just getting started on our special weekend.

I have reservations at another place we’ve been interested in for tomorrow night.

And I got us tickets to the Chihuly exhibit at the High Museum of Art tomorrow. I’m so excited to see…”

“Wait… what?” He’d gone pale.

“The kids free weekend? I’ve been talking about it for weeks now.” It was becoming brutally clear to me that he didn’t know what I was talking about. “Or were those some of the many times that you pretend to listen to me but actually have no clue what I’m saying?”

“Fuck, Blair. Don’t start this shit, please.” He ran a hand through his hair, and I was struck again by the unfairness of it all. Why couldn’t he have ended up with a dad bod and a receding hair line? But no. He had to be even better looking than when I’d first met him.

I went quiet for a moment. “You’re upset.

But I don’t know why. If anything, I’m the one who should be upset, Scott.

Don’t you see that?” His face was blank.

“What upsets you about this weekend? I have reservations at the hotel across the street. We don’t have to drive all over Atlanta or anything.

” I knew he hated Atlanta traffic and avoided it at all costs.

He ran a hand over his face. “I can’t this weekend. I have plans.”

Plans. I sucked in a breath, suddenly feeling as if I couldn’t breathe. Did he think that was all he had to say? That I would just accept that and pretend everything was okay?

After everything we’d already been through?

“What plans?” I felt as if I’d been kicked in the stomach. I was doing my best not to cry.

“Just… plans. That’s all. I can’t stay over tonight or tomorrow. But you keep the hotel. Go to the exhibit. You deserve some alone time anyway. Use my card and get all the high-end spa treatments, okay?” He plunked his AmEx down and gave me a big grin, as if that made up for it.

“You won’t tell me your plans?”

He just stared at me.

“Do we have another Scarlett situation on our hands?”

He sucked in a breath. “No, of course not,” he said, anger coming into his voice. “Nothing like that. It’s boring, but if you really want to know I’ll tell you.”