Page 19 of Perfect Satisfaction

“Devastated.”

I sit up straighter before demanding, “Why? What’s wrong?”

Liza quickly tells me about what’s she saw, and not just what’s been rumored in the British papers. “I can’t unsee it, Arek.”

“Have you tried asking him about it?” I know Liza’s relationship has been a challenge since her home base is New York and his is London, but her next words stop me short.

“I have several times. He just laughs and says, ‘It’s only Sula. Nothing for you to worry about, love.’ Like I’m supposed to understand what that means?”

Sula.Her name rips through me like Jason Voorhees wielding a knife. Carefully, I ask, “Who did you say he was with?”

“Sula Moore. Ursula, that is. At least, that’s what the British tabloids have called her though that’s not what Joshua was murmuring to her when he was running his fingers through her hair.”

In his bed.I recall my previous conversation with Liza. I start to spin toward my desk to type in the name to start my research when Liza’s next words pull me up short. “She’s rumored to be the only child of billionaire West Moore.”

It’s not possible they’re one and the same, is it?

My voice is craggy when I ask, “West Moore, as in Moore Software Worldwide? That West Moore?”

Liza’s known me too well not to pick up on the change in my tone. “Arek, what’s wrong?”

Sula, my Sula, is worth billions? What the hell kind of game was she playing at?

“Liza, I’m certain the woman you hate, your nemesis, is the woman I married.” Her silence doesn’t give me a clue on how she’s taking my speculation.

I slide back from my computer, now afraid of what I’ll find if I search. “I just don’t know how she and your Joshua hooked up.”

“He works . . .” I hear her audibly swallow. “Works for Moore Software Worldwide.”

“Christ.” I scrub my hand over my face. “Remind me how you met him again?”

She doesn’t hear how dreamy her voice becomes, but I do. It makes the first spikes of hatred toward my wife slide forward. “I was on a photoshoot in Dubai. He was on his cell phone by the pool. The photographer asked him to move and he—in this ridiculous upper-crust accent—asked, ‘May I have a reason why?’ As if the cameras and light reflectors weren’t a clue. The director dragged me forward. Our eyes met and he asked me to dinner.” Her voice crumbles. “Maybe he did the same to Ursula Moore.”

I don’t correct her that it’s Ursula Ronan. Obviously, no one else knows my wife is married.

Even though my heart’s dying, I shake it off. I have a lifelong friendship—a star I need to protect—right here in front of me. Not a star I need to chase after.After all, if she’d stuck around, I might have been able to explain,I think bitterly. “So, you move on.”

“It’s not that simple! I love him!” she shrieks.

I rub my ear from the sheer volume of her declaration. If words have power, these would be emblazoned on the sky. “Do you think I don’t understand that? She’s my wife.” I let that sink in a moment before I remind her, “Buttheydid this tous.”

Her sniffles splinter my heart even more than it was already broken. “All men are assholes.”

I find a flicker of amusement when I accept on behalf of my gender. “Thank you.”

“Arek! Not you!” she shouts.

“Yeah, yeah. I know what you’re trying to say—not all men are cheating dicks.” Though that’s in my bloodline as well. Maybe what Liza says is right. Maybe a man can’t find satisfaction with one woman. Maybe all we’re meant to do is hurt those we long for. My mind flashes back to the story Ursula told me.

In detail.

Details about Angela Fahey Burke I might have killed for before I met Sula.

“I encouraged her to go.” Ursula’s tears drip against my chest.

My hand stills against her back, just letting her absorb my warmth. “How did the two of you become friends.”

Her head lifts and for a moment, I see a flicker of amusement light her eyes. “You can thank the randomness of a college dormitory lottery for that.”