Finally, in a small voice, she replied, "Do you really want to know the answer to that?"
Her response cut me deep, and the breath I'd been holding flew out of me like a raging bull. With a shaky hand, I yanked open the console beside me and took out a shot glass and a miniature bottle of whisky. I threw my head back, letting the alcohol burn its way down my throat. I took another shot when the first failed to take away the image of my wife walking out of, what was now confirmed, a sordid dalliance with some young buck.
I thought of his smug expression as he crossed the foyer; his mouth softened in a curve of satisfaction. Ugly images of rumpled hotel sheets and writhing bodies flooded my mind, andI tossed the shot glass and alcohol back into the console before slamming the lid shut. I ran a jerky hand through my hair in a futile attempt to scrub this whole day from my memories.
The air hung heavy and stifling around us as the car moved through the streets, heading back to my office. There was no way I could work now, but I couldn't form the words to order the car around.
"I was discreet."
My head jerked up to Millie. Her voice was so soft I wouldn't have heard her if not for the tense silence that amplified the smallest sound. Her face was still tilted towards the window, her hands tightly clasped together in her lap.
"What was that?" I challenged, daring her to look at me.
And when she did, I was infuriated because how dare she look at me with eyes brimming in quiet resentment and anger?
She lifted her chin. "I was discreet," she repeated. "A bloody lot more than you."
I opened my mouth to respond, but she wasn't done. "I disguised myself. I chose someone you wouldn't bump into. I stayed well away from any hotel associated with you." Her green eyes flashed as her voice became progressively louder. "Can you say the same?" she demanded.
"You chose a woman in our social circle, and who knows how many I've unknowingly bumped into? And tell me," she continued, her voice tight with controlled fury. "Did you even have the decency not to use one of your hotels?"
Red scored my cheeks.
"I didn't think so."
"Millie—"
"Just drop me off at home," she stiffly said, her face turning once more to the moving scenery. "Go back to your work and your women."
Chapter 10
Millie
Alessio:On my way home. Be about 30 minutes.
I sighed as I flipped my phone face down and returned my gaze to my open laptop. My fingers hovered over the keys as I tried to force my attention back to my coursework. It was coming up to Christmas break, and classes were ramping up to fit in as much as possible before our two weeks off. If it weren't for the fact that I voice-recorded my classes and re-read my notes every night, I would be seriously concerned about my university placement. My head was clouded with so much personal strife that I didn't know whether I was coming or going.
And now, just when I had my concentration back, Alessio decided to text me at the most inopportune time, wrecking my rhythm and clogging my thoughts with confusion.
Because his message both annoyed and thrilled me.
It was the same mix of emotions that flooded me when I arrived home early today from class, only to be greeted byAlessio. He'd come home to have lunch with me before going back to the office, and I hated that spike of high in my chest when he flashed me that lazy smile.
But, as with most things concerning Alessio, that high was temporary, and I was immediately wary of his intentions. Especially since I'd stopped adding my class times to our shared calendar, so I had no idea how he knew my schedule.
He'd also been home early nearly every night for dinner, but instead of being deluded into thinking Alessio was finally carving out time for me, I simply wondered just how long his attentiveness would last.
I didn't believe in coincidences, so the fact that he was back to playing the dutiful and considerate husband after he discovered Archie and me at The Glen did not go unnoticed. Because hadn't he behaved the same when Annabelle had ambushed me?
Back then, I'd soaked up all his attention, cautiously excited and naive to hope that we were finally turning a new corner in our marriage. Only for Alessio to abruptly pull back and return to his old ways. Those weeks of darkness, when I'd just started to bask in the small ray of light he'd bestowed me, had been a hard blow to recover from.
It had been two weeks since he'd caught me at The Glen, and we hadn't talked about it since. When we arrived home after an uncomfortable and silent ride, I'd fully expected him to dissect every step I'd taken that led me there.
But to my surprise, he quickly absconded to his office and had stayed there all night. Day two hadn't been any different, but by the third day, he had emerged from whatever mood he'd been in and carried on as usual.
My cheeks heated when I thought back to that pivotal moment—the moment I stepped onto the foyer feeling all types of conflicted—and hearing Alessio's shocked and guttural voice. At first, I couldn't actually believe that he was there. It was justso random; he had no connection to Wimbledon or The Glen, the hotel wasn't one of his, and it wouldn't be the type of establishment he would stay at. It was a three-star hotel at best, and Alessio made no secret about preferring the finer things in life.
Once I'd established that, no, I wasn't imagining things and that it really was my husband standing there looking like a strong wind could knock him over, disbelief soon gave way to horror and shame.
