I’ve been trying to convince Colin to at least take Saturdays off so we could spend a weekend at his parents’ place in the Hamptons, but so far, he hasn’t been able to free up his schedule.
"Probably another big deal they’re about to close," Harper says.
"Maybe," I reply. "Can you believe his assistant had an accident and he didn’t even think to mention it to me? I only found out last week when I couldn’t reach him on his phone and ended up calling the office. That’s when someone else picked up—a Maya something—who, by the way, never passed on my message. According to Colin, she’s just a junior assistant."
"See? That explains it," Harper says with a knowing nod. "Jon mentioned something about Margaret. Poor thing. The new girl is probably still finding her footing, so everything’s slower than usual. It’ll settle down soon, and then Colin will be around more."
Her lips curve into a knowing smile. “And in the meantime, you could always plan something, whisk him away somewhere… just the two of you.”
I just smile and shake my head, not mentioning my failed attempt to plan a trip to the Hamptons. I also keep quiet about the uneasy feeling that seems to fade whenever Colin is home… only to settle right back in the moment he walks out the door again.
Colin
“I know he’s cheating.”
I hear Ceci say it just as I’m walking toward her and Harper. The words hit me hard enough that I stop mid-step. The sip of scotch I’ve just taken goes down the wrong way. I choke, coughing hard, enough to pull both their gazes toward me.
“You okay?” Cecily asks, worry softening her voice.
I nod too fast, forcing a smile and waving her off like it’s nothing. I set the glass down on a nearby table as I pass, then keep walking toward them, trying to steady my breathing, every muscle in my body strung tight with dread.
When I reach her, I perch on the arm of her chair and press a kiss into her hair. Too hard, too desperate. If she really knew,she wouldn’t let me touch her. She wouldn’t lean into me like this.
Would she?
Keeping my voice even, I ask, “What are you two talking about?”
“It’s a show we’re watching,” Harper says before Ceci can answer, all animated. “The main guy has a secret apartment his wife doesn’t know about. We see him going there constantly, but never inside. Cecily swears he’s cheating. Personally, I think he’s a serial killer.”
“Maybe he’s both,” I say, forcing a laugh that’s tight, brittle.
Letting my hand settle on her shoulder, I brush my thumb along her neck, trying to ground myself in the only thing that still feels real.
“Oh, please,” Harper groans, rolling her eyes. “Every time you’re within two feet of her, you have to touch her. I’m getting more wine… maybe I’ll find a little love for myself while I’m at it.”
When she’s far enough away to be out of earshot, I tilt Ceci’s chin up, my heart pounding. “Why are you so invested in this show?”
She blinks, surprised by the question, then gives a soft laugh.
“I don’t know. I just like it,” she says. “Same way I read true crime sometimes.”
She hesitates, then adds softly, “I read once that people are drawn to stories about infidelity because it taps into somethingalmost… universal. It’s not just betrayal, it’s the emotional turmoil, the ethical questions, the way it shakes the foundations of a relationship. On some level, everyone fears it happening to them. And part of us wants to understand why something so painful happens in the first place.”
My throat tightens. I can’t look away from her.
I cup her face and kiss her. Long, deep, possessive, like I could wipe everything clean if I just held her close enough.
“Get a room!” Jonathan shouts from across the yard.
“Your own house, not mine!” Harper adds, laughing.
Cecily pulls back, laughing with them, and says she’s going to check if Harper needs help. I catch her hand before she can stand.
“You shouldn’t waste time on shows like that,” I say, trying to sound casual. “They’re not good for you.”
She just smiles, shakes her head, kisses me once more, and slips inside.
Later, when we’re finally home, I make love to her slowly, committing every sound she makes to memory, every curve of her body beneath my hands. I hold her as if each touch might keep her from ever suspecting the truth.
