“Beautiful wife you have there, Preston,” says a voice behind me.
I turn to see David Thornfield, a hedge fund manager I’ve been courting for months. “Thank you, David. She is rather spectacular, isn’t she?”
“How long have you been married?”
“Six wonderful years. Best decision I ever made.”
David nods appreciatively. “You’re a lucky man. Hold onto that one.”
“Oh, I intend to.”
Ten minutes pass, then fifteen. What’s taking her so long? I’m about to go check when I see her emerging from the powder room. But instead of coming back to me, she’s walking toward the coat check.
She’s leaving?
I catch up with her just as the attendant hands her a black wrap.
“Snow, where are you going? The evening’s barely started.”
She turns to face me, and something in her expression makes my blood run cold. “A word of advice, Preston. Next time you want to play the devoted husband in public, you might want to make sure your mistresses aren’t in the same room as your wife.”
My mouth goes dry. “What?”
“I overheard an interesting conversation.” Her voice is calm, conversational, as if she’s discussing the weather. “Two women were discussing their recent… encounters… with a married man. Very detailed descriptions. Very specific details. Imagine my surprise when I realized they were talking about my husband.”
The words hit me like ice water. “Snow, I don’t know what you think you heard—”
“One of them mentioned the birthmark on your left shoulder. The other described that little thing you do with your tongue.” She tilts her head, almost curious. “They were comparing notes, Preston. Laughing about how your wife — that would be me — obviously wasn’t taking care of your needs since you were so… hungry… for their attention.”
I can’t speak. I can’t breathe.
“They mentioned dates, Preston. Last weekend. Monday afternoon. While you were sending me flowers and leaving voicemails about how much you love me.” She adjusts her wrap with perfect composure. “One of them said you told her I was frigid. That I didn’t understand you. The other one said you told her we have an open marriage. An open marriage, Preston?”
“Snow, please, let me explain—”
“There’s nothing to explain. I just wanted you to know that I know. That your performance tonight — because that’s what this was, wasn’t it? A performance? — was wasted effort.”
She walks away, her head held high, leaving me standing there as my entire world crumbles around me. But it’s not over. It can’t be over. She’s just… testing me. Seeing how far I’ll go toprove my love. This is all part of her plan to make me appreciate her more.
Isn’t it?
I watch her disappear into the night, and for the first time since this whole nightmare began, a cold tendril of real fear creeps up my spine.
What if she really means it? What if she’s actually done with me?
Chapter 6
Snow
The elevator doors slide open onto the 45th floor, and I step out into a world of cool, quiet power. Three weeks ago, when I walked into Patricia Taylor’s office for the first time, I was nervous but determined — a woman ready to reclaim her life, armed with evidence of my husband’s betrayal. Today, I walk through those glass doors even stronger, with my shoulders back and my head high.
Patricia is waiting for me in the conference room, her laptop already open, a predatory smile on her face. But before she can launch into business, she leans back and studies me with an almost maternal concern.
“How are you holding up?” she asks. “I heard about Friday night.”
I can’t help it — I laugh. Actually laugh. “You mean the gala? That was… something.”
“According to my sources, Preston tried to stage a very public reconciliation. Dancing, declarations of love, the whole performance.” Her eyebrow arches. “And you shut him down spectacularly.”
