Page 84 of Perfect Satisfaction

She spoons another bite of yogurt in. “That only lasted until he died. I have more respect for JB.”

“Yet there’s the post from tonight.” I wave my phone.

She flicks her spoon through the air. “That’s more of a gentle slap upside the head for him to get his arse in gear. He should expect it.”

I gape at her. “He knows you write the blog.”

“Of course he does. He’s read it since I started it at MIT.”

I’m unable to believe what’s coming out her mouth. “You’ve known Joshua Basset since college. You do realize you’re standing here fully admitting to...”

“Not a damn thing,husband.” The way she twists the word husband makes my stomach roil. I can hear Liza in my head screaming,Tell her!after our lunch together.

Instead of listening, I fling out, “While we’re talking about bullshit, you and a blog? You had the nerve to question me about selling out your family? You ended our marriage over it.”

“I didn’t end our marriage—you did. You sold out Angie. The sister of my heart. I couldn’t give a rat’s arse if you wrote scathing things about my father—he likely deserved them all. But Angie? You do remember me crying to you about Angela Fahey, right?”

Unfortunately, I do. Every tear that fell seared into me as I deliberately withheld the information from my wife about what role I played in Angela’s discovery.

A lie.

She left me over it.

I shudder.

Her eyes are reflections of Lake Carezza, Italy—emerald and wet. “Maybe it will help you to recall if I let you know I stood up for her at her wedding to Ward Burke. Hey. It’s a little late, but want to go out and print that?” She slams the carton of yogurt down. Blobs of cultured milk fling in all directions, some landing on me.

“You have no idea what actually happened, Ursula.”

“And you changed all our lives that day. You... you have no idea.” Her hand slides into the back of her hair and presses down hard. Her eyes squint and she sways. One hand slaps down on the counter for her to catch her balance.

I’m around the counter in a second, clutching her to my chest. “Sula? Sweetheart, what is it?”

I’m cognizant that fear prompted me to use her nickname—an intimacy I’ve avoided, if only to keep some distance between us. It brings me one step back into being ensnared in her. Right now, I don’t give a shit. She’s not well and I’m fucking terrified.

“Nothing. Just a headache. It will pass.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“Don’t expect me not to.”

I step as close to her as I can and press my fingers against her temples. “You always got faint when you didn’t eat enough.”

Realizing how close we are, she pulls away. “Migraines. Stress, loud noises, can trigger them.”

"Migraines?” I repeat, dumbly. We were together for months and I never knew she suffered them. “Do you get them frequently?”

“Enough.” Her hand is still clutching her head. For long moments neither of us says a word as she comes to grip with a pain I can’t battle for her. The only sound is the deep breaths she’s taking. Maybe that’s why I’m taken aback when she immediately resumes our argument. “Besides I shouldn’t have lost my temper over our marriage.”

“Why the fuck not?” I’m insulted, despite myself.

“Because there’s no point in looking back. You made your choices.”

That grates. I snip, “So did you, darling.”

She’s about to spit something in heat but restrains herself. When she lifts her head, there’s so much unhidden pain in her eyes, she calmly slices into my heart with her quiet, “Walking away from my marriage was the best thing I ever did.”

“Thanks for the compliment.”