“You really think that is a good color for you?” he asks me as I pull up the picture on my phone. “You are a little pale and it’ll drag you down.”
“I don’t think so,” I reply, handing him the phone to look at the photo of me wearing the dress. It’s a blush pink that is off one shoulder, then it’s ruched together at the chest. A gold-and-silver beaded belt ties at the waist and it flows straight to the floor.
“Do you think this style is good for you?” He looks up at me, handing me back the phone. “What other dresses did you try on?”
“This one.” I pull up the picture of me with a darker pink, long-sleeved chiffon gown. The neckline scoops down a bit, but the whole top has light-purple crystals all along the front, and the sleeves go just past my stomach and then trail off. I don’t mention to him that the whole back of this dress is open.
“Now this,” he starts, “this is the dress that screams class and head of the committee.” He smiles. “Don’t you think?”
“I guess so.” I grab the phone from him. “It’s more expensive than the other one.” I look down at the phone, swiping through the two pictures.
“That right there should have been your first clue, but you choose the one you want to choose. I’m just giving you my opinion.”
“Okay, I’ll call and make the changes today.”
“That’s my girl,” he praises. “I’m going to go shower and get dressed.”
“Okay.” I watch his back walking to his side of the house. “Don’t forget your files,” I mention and he laughs, ignoring my comment.
Last week he came into my meeting and forced me to go home to collect his files that were here, except they weren’t, they were with him the whole time. He said it was a slight oversight, but I knew better. He wanted to make sure everyone knew he was my husband and his job was more important than mine. And by everyone, he meant Kirby.
He comes out of his bathroom thirty minutes later, while I’m sitting down and having two poached eggs on a bed of spinach. “I have clothes that need to be dropped off at the dry cleaners,” he states, “and I need you to make sure my tux is ready for your little fundraiser thing.”
“Tux is ready, I checked last week,” I tell him. “And I’ll drop off the clothes when I go out to my meeting today.” I don’t bother telling him it’s me going to a dance studio to make sure the bachelors are there and look proper. That would just upset him or make him find something for me to do so I couldn’t go to that.
“I can’t wait for this fundraiser to be finished,” he remarks, annoyed. “It’s taking a lot of your time.”
“It’s good for the hospital,” I remind him, “and it’ll make you look good too if it’s as successful as I think it’ll be.”
“Always thinking about me.” He smiles at me. “Why don’t we go out for dinner tonight?”
“I’d love that. Anywhere special I can book?” I ask him.
“I’m golfing with a couple of people today, so let me ask them and I’ll text you later.”
“Sounds good,” I tell him, taking a bite of my eggs. “Have a good round.”
He nods as he walks out of the house. I finish eating and clean up the kitchen, even though I have a cleaning crew come into the house every two days. It’s a bit extreme, but Trent refuses to see one speck of dust anywhere.
I walk back into my gym and decide to do a yoga workout and then another Pilates workout. I shower and get dressed in white capri pants that are tight on my hips, but then flow loosely all the way down, pleated in the front from the iron. I grab the dark-blue, sleeveless silk shirt with the ruffles around the shoulders and then opt to wearing my hair down and not tied back. I snatch a pair of nude platform wedges with an open toe and tie around the ankle.
I walk into Trent’s room, expecting to see the bed unmade but it looks like it hasn’t been slept in. I walk over to the side of the bed where he usually leaves papers that he accumulated in his pockets during the day, finding it empty. I turn my head to the side and see if he has his sleep pants tossed on the chair and find those aren’t even there.
The knot in my stomach forms as I walk to his walk-in closet and see a pile of clothes on the floor, not on the chair like I asked him to put them, or in the bag that is hanging on the hanger. I grab the bag and start putting the clothes in it. I spot his white shirt with a brown mark on the collar. I rub it and it looks like it’s foundation, I shake my head and put the shirt in the bag.
Anger fills my body and I pull the shirt out of the bag and place it on the chair where he dumps his clothes, with the mark on the collar showing. I know he’s going to blame me again for it. It’s always my makeup that dirties his clothes, except I stopped wearing foundation when the summer season started since it’s just too hot for it.
I put the bag in the trunk of my car, heading straight to the dry cleaner before driving over to the dance hall. I park my car in the parking lot next to a charcoal Land Rover, a car I wanted but was told it was too big and bulky for me. I slip my phone in my purse as I make my way to the door, pulling it open and seeing the room empty with only one person there, Kirby. He’s standing in the middle of the room, wearing another pair of blue jeans with a white T-shirt. With his tattoos on full display, his arms look tanned and golden. His hair looks like he walked out of the shower and just ran his hand through it. His head turns toward the door and his blue eyes find mine.
“Am I late or am I early?” he asks me and I look at the time on my watch, three steps into the room.
“You are right on time,” I answer, looking around. “Did Darryl send out the invite to all the guys?” I pull up his name on my phone. “He is the liaison between us and you guys.”
“I’m the new liaison,” he states and I take a step back. “He says he’s busy training or something, so I took it over.”
“Oh.” I try to hide my shock. “No one told me.”
“It happened in the meeting that your husband interrupted,” he fills me in, “when you had to run home.” I swallow, trying not to let that dig get to me, but also knowing that I need to clear the air somewhat from what he heard me say.
