“Nothing but the best for your fake wife. Now to wipe off this horrible perfume.”
“Why—would you wear a wig?”
She walked over to my home office and started rifling through a filing cabinet.
Hell—even her walk was different. My wife’s movements had always been very elegant, ladylike, and delicate. But suddenly Paloma’s hips were moving differently, slow and decadent, like rich caramel.
“To get you to marry me, of course.”
“But—for what point or purpose would you perpetuate this ruse?” I asked angrily, pulling at my tie.
It couldn’t be real. Silas Di Pietro did not get fooled.
“Money.”
“Money?”
“You have rather a lot of it,” she pointed out reproachfully, frowning at me with those full lips. “Far more than you know what to do with. I don’t feel guilty for deceiving you at all. You’re using your money for very stupid things.”
And for once in my life, I was completely speechless.
Everything was wrong. It was like I was in quicksand, falling. I had expected to be in control of this interview, gently and lovingly shepherding my wife through grief and despair to acknowledgment of my repentance. I had known how it all was going to go.
“But youlove me,” I said, rather stupidly.
Paloma looked at me blankly for a moment, her luminous blue eyes wide. This was when she was going to tell me she had been joking.
Then she burst out in laughter.
“Ha. Hahahahaha. That’s a good one. I’m 27 and you’re 47. What even would we have in common? Think about it logically, Silas.”
My wife pulled off her little cream-colored cardigan to reveal a rather skimpy tank top, unsnapping her bra with a sigh of relief.
Usually she was so modest and demure she didn’t even want to change in front of me. . .
“But you were so sweet when we first met,” I protested.
Paloma only laughed heartily. “And I bet you think I barely wear any makeup, right? That my hair just naturally curls like this? That every wife wants to cater to her husband’s every whim?”
“Er. . . yes?”
I felt angry and bewildered. How had this happened to me? I prided myself on my dignity, discernment, and good character judgment.
And I could have sworn Paloma was exactly what she seemed to be—a sweet, submissive wife!
Her tits were still mouthwateringly perfect handfuls, and seeing them in the light like this was unfortunately making my dick twitch.
“What are you looking for?” I asked, as she grabbed a file folder.
“Our prenup, of course.”
“Prenup? I don’t want to get divorced!”
“But I do!” she chirped cheerfully. “And of course now that you’ve cheated you can’t deny me one.”
There was a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, like my entire world had turned upside down.
I had been prepared for tears. For heartbreak. Total devastation. For having to reassure my broken-hearted wife over and over again that I did love her. That I wanted to be with her. That my depraved desires had nothing to do with her.
