Chapter Fourteen
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The glass slips through my fingers. But for some reason, I see rather than hear it explode when it hits the floor.
“Oh.” My hands drop to my sides. One empty now, the other still clutching my phone. “Oh, I’m...so sorry. How clumsy of me.”
The woman who’s been chatting to me in equal time about both dogs and my “cutie husband” places a hand on my shoulder. “Are you all right? You just went really pale.”
“I’m—yes. I’m sorry.” I can’t seem to find any other words.
Eva Wallace comes over, followed by a caterer with a dustpan. “No apologies necessary. It was an accident. You didn’t cut yourself, did you, Lydia? Has anyone seen Anton?”
“No, but—” I close my eyes, unable to chase away the message burned into my memory. Nausea rises in my throat, and I bring my hand to my mouth. “Excuse me, I need to use the bathroom.”
There are whispers behind me, but I don’t hear what any of them say. I’m too focused on getting out.
Once I duck inside a plush powder room near the kitchen, I turn the lock and look at my phone with a shaking hand.
MountainMan3
I’ve been dreaming of your tits. If you’re still interested, I’d love to meet.
Exactly the words I thought I’d read. I had to see them again to be sure.
I close the lid of the toilet and sit, pressing my head into my hands. My heart still pounds dully, despite the fact that my chest feels like it’s been ripped open. He’d said he couldn’t cheat. And I was so sure he wouldn’t. That he’d considered it, but decided our love was stronger than his lust.
Apparently it wasn’t.
I worked so hard to charm his boss, clients, and coworkers tonight. But when he pulled me into that room and started practically undressing me—suggesting we get a hotel, like some hookup on that app—I couldn’t help it; the brakes just came on.
I shut my eyes, his urgent voice replaying in my head: I can’t keep doing this, Lydia. I need you. Then he’d placed my hand on him. Like he expected me to smile and lay down right there on the floor, spread my legs, and invite him on top of me. At a work party.
A single hot tear rolls down my cheek as it occurs to me that my mother might’ve been right—maybe we are like her and Dad. My stomach roils at the thought. No . I just needed space to regroup. To get in the right headspace, somewhere private. We could’ve gone home, like Anton suggested. Maybe talked it through. Probably still had sex.
But he couldn’t wait.
And now I just want to keep hiding in here rather than face all the people telling me what a cute couple we are. Because it’s either come out breathing fire in front of them or smile and continue pretending we’re totally meant to be.
Something Caprice said echoes faintly through my mind: You’re not going to just ignore this and look the other way.
I ball my fists, because she’s right. What if this isn’t even the first time? He might have already cheated— been cheating on me. For months? Years? My stomach twists. Maybe Unmatched is just the latest tool he’s trying out to get laid. He might be playing coy with LonelyGirl8, acting innocent, but it could just be a strategy. Maybe he’s adept at getting women to come to him.
I wipe the tear away, rise to my feet, and stare into the mirror over the sink. This isn’t how I imagined the evening going. Though it’s not how I imagined my marriage playing out either. I can’t decide if I’m stupid or naive. Maybe a little of both. Either way, I only see one choice ahead of me.
Time to return to Plan A.
I unlock my phone and craft my words carefully.
LonelyGirl8
I’m so excited. Let’s make it happen.
It isn’t long before a message pings again.
MountainMan3
Okay. But I don’t want to meet in Denver. How about Colorado Springs.
LonelyGirl8
Understood.
MountainMan3
Can you get away Monday night?
My mouth sours. That’s bold. What’s he going to do, schedule a last-minute “business trip?” I swipe over to my calendar, and my stomach clenches. It’s so soon—only two days away. My head pounds. I’m not ready. I need more time. But then I think of having to go home and climb into bed next to him, pretending everything’s normal. Like the last week hasn’t been hard enough. Suddenly, two more nights seem like forever. I want this over with. I type a truth:
LonelyGirl8
Yes. My husband will be away then, so I’ll be lonely for sure.
There’s another long pause. Outside the bathroom door, I hear voices and a growing commotion. My phone vibrates again.
MountainMan3
Do you mind if I ask . . . what brought you on Unmatched?
My heart skips. I wasn’t expecting that at all. And it doesn’t seem fair for him to ask questions I want answers to.
LonelyGirl8
What if I asked you the same thing?
My pulse throbs through my clenched jaw.
MountainMan3
Never mind.
MountainMan3
How about the Hyatt on the north end of CO Springs? 6:30pm?
I flinch, relieved to follow him away from that particular topic. But now he’s led me to something worse. Anton and I have stayed at that hotel. The year after we got married, on the way back from visiting his mom and brother in Texas. A blizzard came up out of nowhere an hour from home, and we decided to stop and spend the night. There’s nothing really special about the place. It was clean, had a pool, free breakfast. But I remember we made love there because he said the snow turned him on.
I glare at the messages on my screen. That’s one of the happier memories I can come up with in the entire history of our sex life. But he wants to take another girl there and make new ones?
LonelyGirl8
Hyatt works. I’ll Google it.
There’s another pause. Another span of seconds ticking away.
MountainMan3
To be clear, this is JUST a meetup to fuck. No strings.
LonelyGirl8
Isn’t that the whole point?
MountainMan3
Exactly. I can’t wait to get my hands on those luscious tits.
My lip curls, and I’m about to shoot a reply when someone taps on the door. “Lydia? Are you all right?”
I lock my phone quickly. There are several voices outside, but I think that was Eva Wallace, owner of the bathroom I’m holed up in. I can’t imagine having to give her any kind of explanation when I am literally seething. But at the same time, I’ve got to figure out some way to get out of here. Home. To my dog.
“I—sorry, must’ve been something I ate.” My voice comes out convincingly ill. That wasn’t hard at all.
“Oh no. Don’t worry, hon. Someone went to find?—”
She’s interrupted by a firm knock on the door. “Lydia?”
His deep voice sends my stomach buckling, and now I’m afraid I really might throw up. I lay my hand flat on the door, glance at the tiny window behind me, and consider trying to open it and climb out.
“Sweetheart, what happened?” Anton says, trying the doorknob. And my heart nearly cracks from the very real concern in his voice.
I slump against the wood, trying to envision all the ways this could go. There aren’t many. And pretty much all of them require me to open the door and face him in front of an audience. There’s a rustle of bodies and murmurs, and suddenly I can picture my husband out there, prickling, surrounded by all those nosy clucking coworkers. His illicit sex plans interrupted by his ailing wife. For just a moment, I savor the idea of his situation being almost as torturous as mine.
And then his voice comes through the door again, right by my ear. This time firm and clear. “Lydia, come on. Let’s go home.”
I find my reflection in the mirror and manage to swallow my panic. Then I turn the knob.
I hold my hand over my mouth, keeping my eyes on the floor as I swing the door open. I try not to flinch when Anton’s arm drapes protectively around my shoulders, guiding me slowly into the hall. At the same time, I’m grateful for him shielding me from the world. The music is still playing elsewhere in the house, though it seems a bit softer now. There are still plenty of people crowded in other rooms and, to my relief, only a few fussing around us. Eva Wallace, Myra Alvarez, and a couple other women who either witnessed my dramatic flight or are just curious about what happened.
“I’ve got you,” Anton whispers, and I want to shriek in his ear that it’s the other way around, but instead I let him guide me toward the doors amid a flurry of whispers from his coworkers.
Must be sick.
Suddenly turned green.
Ran for the bathroom.
As we near the exit, I hear one voice speculate a little too loudly that I might be pregnant, and I nearly laugh out loud.
Anton turns to Eva as we leave. “Thanks, Eva. For the party, and your kindness.”
“Of course. Always nice to see you.” She lowers her voice. “I hope you feel better soon, Lydia.”
And then he’s helping me down the steps, much the way we arrived. Keeping a firm, steady arm around my waist, which is actually useful when my heels hit the gravel. We reach his truck and he opens the door, helps me in, and then he doesn’t seem to know quite what to do. He stands there, hovering, not saying anything, and it’s all I can manage not to whip out my phone, wave his messages in his face, and yell. But it seems the stomach flu ruse worked better than I expected because he leans in to feel my forehead, studying my face, looking distressed.
“What happened? Do you want to go to urgent care?” he asks in a low voice. And for a moment, I just want to sink into his arms, bury my face in his chest, and cry.
“No,” I whisper with dry lips. I buckle my seatbelt and curl into myself. “I’ll be fine. I—I just want to go home and go to bed.”