He tossed the bottle cap on the counter, then leaned back against the sink, as far as he could get from me. “What if we’d bought it, Olivia? He would have been in our home, where our children live, where we have dinner every night. Where we make love,” he said through gritted teeth. “For God’s sake, what the hell were you thinking?”
For once, I’d been feeling, not thinking. But it would be a cop-out to say I’d been swept away in the heat of the moment. I had made the decision to let David into my life. To let him catch me. To let my feelings develop—and to fuck him. “You’re right. You are absolutely right.”
“So everyone knows then?”
I frowned. “No. Lucy and Andrew knew nothing about this.”
“But Gretchen does.” He shook his head in reproach. “I always knew she was a bad influence on you. I should’ve put a stop to that.”
“She’s my best friend,” I said.
“The night he helped you with Alvarez,” Bill said over me. “Was that a cover-up?”
“Nothing happened that night.”
“I’m supposed to believe that?”
“It was the next night.”
His face went blank. We stared at each other, and I wondered if he could hear my pounding heart from where he stood. “Isn’t that when Davena died?” he asked.
My voice broke. “Yes.”
“Huh. I’m a fucking idiot, aren’t I?” He scoff-laughed. “All this time I thought you were mourning. Unbelievable.”
“Of course I was mourning Davena,” I said, wiping my sweaty palms on my slacks. “You know how close we were.”
“You let me believe,” he said, setting down the untouched beer bottle with aclink, “for almost five months, that this was because of her death. You’re in the wrong profession, baby. You should be an actress.”
“This hasn’t been easy, trust me.”
“Look, I knew when I married you that you were still dealing with shit from your childhood, even though,” he paused, holding up his palms, “it’s beenyears. I knew that you had . . . issues that run deep. But I’m only beginning to realize just exactly how cold you are.”
A horrified feeling took over. There it was, the pedestal Bill had put me on—teetering underneath me, tipping . . . and falling, crashing to the ground and smashing into a million pieces.
He shook his head at the floor. “What did I do to deserve this? Haven’t I been good to you?”
My chest threatened to cave in. “You do not deserve any of this,” I said, enunciating each word. “I am so sorry, Bill. I made a terrible decision.”
“Decisions.” He picked up his drink and took a swig. “I know all about crimes of passion in my line of work, and this wasn’t one. Intent matters, Liv. When was the second time?”
I worked my jaw side to side. I didn’t want to get into details. Part of me secretly hoped Bill wouldn’t, either—we’d built our marriage on skating over the gritty parts of our relationship. Was it fair for him to break that silent contract now?
Yes. Because I’d broken it first.
“You said it happened twice,” he said. “When was the second time?”
“When you went fishing with Hugh.”
“That was two weeks ago.”
I nodded.
“I’m assuming that was also with the architect.”
My mouth dropped open. “Of course. I’m not running around town with anyone I can find.”
“Why him?” he asked. “It’s so goddamn predictable. Why did it have to be someone likehim?”
