one
Lexi
“Good class,” the Pilates instructor, Chelsea, says as she claps her hands. “You guys did great!”
I smile at her and get off my Pilates reformer, walking over to grab the spray bottle; my legs buckling a bit after the workout I just did. I spray the disinfectant on my machine before wiping it down.
“Thank you again, Chelsea,” I say, picking up my water and returning the spray bottle near the front of the room.
Snatching my keys and phone from one of the wooden cubbies at the front door, I head out into the Arizona heat. The sun is already scorching even though it’s just a little before 7:00 a.m. I press the unlock button and slide into my champagne-colored Bentley, a birthday gift two months ago.
I start the car and pull out of the parking lot to head home. The soft music plays in the background, a classical number, something I never thought I would come to like, but with time it grew on me. The mountains in the distance fill up my view as I make my way into the gated community my husband and I live in.
Driving past the golf course, I pull in front of my black garage door and turn the car off, grabbing my stuff before walking past the four other garage doors, which are all closed with no cars parked in front of them. The first garage door holds Trent’s everyday Land Rover. The second one holds his BMW, which he drives on occasion. The third has the golf cart he takes when he’s going to play golf, and the fourth is the Rolls-Royce he bought himself as a gift. That one he only uses when he wants to show off. Walking past the windows I know are in my dining room, I see the shades are still drawn. I look down at my running shoes as I turn and walk down the white bricked walkway toward the front door.
I open the front door and put my keys on the glass table by the door next to a green-colored vase with fresh white roses. Something that is replaced every couple of days. I untie my shoes before kicking them off and placing them in the sliding door closet on my right and slip on my indoor slippers before walking toward the kitchen.
I pass the formal dining room on my left, where we entertain all of Trent’s friends. The brown table with ten chairs looks more like it’s a conference room than someplace where you would have your meals and enjoy time with friends.
The whole house has a museum-like feeling to it, something I’ve come to live with. I’ve grown used to the lack of warmth from both the house and our marriage. I turn left when I get to the big open space, going toward the kitchen and stopping in my tracks when I see Trent sitting on one of the stools. My pulse speeds up a bit not expecting him to be up at this time, let alone dressed and sitting at the island. The long marble island off to the left holds six stools. Two chandeliers hang over it with gold wiring. It’s a dream kitchen. Beautiful, opulent, a façade...
“Morning,” I greet him softly. “I didn’t know you would be up so early.” I walk over and kiss his cheek. He’s already dressed in black dress pants and a white button-up shirt, the smell of his aftershave lingers. His black hair is cut perfectly since he goes every two weeks to have it trimmed. It’s also styled perfectly without a hair out of place.
“Is that why you snuck out of the house?” he asks, picking up his cup of coffee from beside him as he scrolls on his massive iPad, reading the news.
“I didn’t sneak out of the house.” My hand moves over the top of the granite island counter gently, feeling the coolness of it, before I pull open one of the fridge doors. I grab the fresh pineapple and strawberries before walking to the butler’s pantry behind the wall of the kitchen. I make my protein shake, adding in half a banana, before walking back out and taking a sip of it.
“Where did you go?” he asks me, not taking his eyes off the iPad.
“I went to the six a.m. Pilates class,” I tell him and his eyes look up at me, before giving the top half of me a look up and down. The frown on his face telling me what I already know. The outfit is going in the donate pile as soon as I wash it.
“Dressed like that?” he asks me. I look down at the white workout T-shirt I have on that shows my black sports bra underneath it and matching black tights. “You’re just giving it away for free now.” He shakes his head.
“It’s a class full of women.” I take a sip, looking down at the outfit I bought two weeks ago, thinking it would look nice with my skin tone.
“I thought I told you to do the private classes here.” His voice is calm. “You have that whole workout room. I bought you the reformer and everything. Wouldn’t it be so much easier for you if you just did them here? You wouldn’t need to leave the house. It’s better to have one-on-one classes anyway, isn’t it?”
“She couldn’t get me in this week,” I reply.
“Then find someone else,” he states, not leaving room for a response, and I just nod my head. “Besides, I don’t think what she is doing is helping you. You seem a bit pudgy these days.” The lump forms in my throat. “You shouldn’t even be drinking that shake, it’s full of sugar.” He sighs. “I thought we discussed this already, and you said you would be going back on the diet that works for you.”
“I weigh the same thing I do every single day,” I inform him, knowing it’ll just piss him off.
“Well, your scale must be broken.” He pushes away from the island and comes over to me, grabbing the protein shake and dumping it into the sink. “No sugar, no carbs,” he orders. “It’s not good for you and makes you puffy.”
“Okay,” I reply, not willing to argue with him. Instead, I walk over to the fridge and grab the eggs out of it. “Why are you up so early?”
“I have to go to work so you can afford to not go to work,” he snaps at me. “I have surgery at eight.”
“That’s earlier than usual,” I respond, grabbing a pot. “I have a meeting with Cheryl this morning at ten.” I mention the head of the fundraising committee for the hospital where he’s the head of neurosurgery. “We are doing the final touches on the charity auction we are doing next month.” He sits back down on his stool. “It’s a bachelor auction,” I tell him, as if he’s listening to me. “I was thinking of reaching out to some of my cousins to see if they would…” I trail off when he looks up at me.
“You will not.” He shakes his head. “I have an image to uphold and having your scrappy hockey player relatives coming to my place of work isn’t a good look. Some of them don’t even have teeth.”
I shake my head. “That’s not true,” I mumble.
“Why don’t you leave the bachelor part to Cheryl and you take care of the rest? If you are coming to the hospital today, don’t forget what I said.” I nod at him. “When you are there, you are representing me.”
“I know.” I put water into the pot and then rinse out the protein shake he tossed into the sink. “Do you think you’ll have time for lunch?”
