Isabella
I’m still surprised Dominic agreed to this date. Yet, there’s a part of me bracing for disappointment. He agreed, but then he can still change his mind and decide not to show up.
Setting the knife down carefully on the chopping board, I brush that thought away and admire my chopping skills for a second before adding the ingredients into the pot where the stew has been simmering low for the last half hour. I’m making his favorite meal...Beef sauce, with potatoes and carrots, and pasta. I didn’t even know what that was until this morning, when I asked the chefs, forcing the question out casually, as though a wife not knowing her husband’s favorite meal wasn’t its own kind of indictment. They’d been quick to offer to make it themselves, but I shook my head and released them from kitchen duty for the night.
If Dominic is going to eat with me tonight, it will be something I made with my hands.
“Can you taste this?” I ask, pushing the spoon toward Sharon. My voice comes out lighter than I expect... almost girlish. There’s a warmth inside me, bubbling restlessly, and it makes me want to spin in the middle of the kitchen like a teenager waiting for her crush to knock on the door. Ridiculous. I’m a grown woman, and I’m married to Dominic, a monster as far as I know, yet the thought of that monster coming home and actually choosing to spend the evening with me…it makes my heart race. Oddly, this is the happiest I’ve been in a while.
Sharon doesn’t reach out for the spoon. Her eyes linger on it, then flick to the door, as if Dominic might appear at any moment.
“Please.” I nudge the spoon closer, refusing to lower my hand. My voice drops low. “I won’t tell Dominic.”
Her throat works with a small swallow before she finally takes it and sips, eyes widening with surprise. “It’s really good...just needs a bit more salt.”
“Thank goodness.” I sprinkle in just a pinch more, tasting again. I’m not exactly a natural when it comes to cooking. Recipes don’t come out the way they look in magazines when I prepare them, and I’ve managed to burn toast more times than I care to admit.
Cooking was Elena’s thing. She loved trying out new recipes, and somehow, they always turned out perfect on the very firsttry. She always dragged me along to help out, even though she and her friend did most of the work, while I just watched her in her element. Sometimes, they’d talk about school, about boys...about dreams too wild to ever come true. I loved those moments because they felt like the rare times we actually connected, even though I never interfered in the conversation.
But I also hated those moments because once we left the kitchen, it was like that semblance of closeness had never existed.
I wipe my hands on a towel and glance at the clock.
Dominic will be back home soon. The table’s already set. Sharon insisted on doing it, of course, but I placed the wine glasses myself, wanting to leave my touch.
Wiping my hands on a towel, I glance at my phone on the counter. It’s past six already... and if I don’t hurry, I won’t have time to change before Dominic gets back. My stomach knots at the thought he might walk in early and find me still in the kitchen, with my hair pinned messily and a stew-stained apron still tied around my waist.
“Do you want me to bring out the silver candlesticks?” she asks.
I nod quickly. “Yes. Thank you. And…maybe the red napkins, the silk ones?”
She disappears into the dining room, and left alone, I lean against the counter, pressing a hand to my chest. Like a bad omen, my phone rings, and dread settles in my stomach.
For one awful second, I think it’s Dominic calling to cancel. But when I see my stepmother’s name flashing across the screen, I exhale, half relieved, half annoyed. Talking to Melanie isn’t exactly my idea of calm before a date.
The phone rings insistently, despite my refusal to pick up the first three times. With a sigh, I pick it up. “Hello.”
“Isabella, you need to see something.”
Irritation pricks my skin, and my grip tightens against the phone. For the first time since she and Dad transformed into this saintly couple, I let her know what I feel. “Melanie, whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it. Not tonight.”
“You’ll want to see this,” she cuts in, louder. “Check X.”
My first instinct is to hang up because I don’t need her dramatics tonight, but there’s an urgency in her tone that drags my feet to the living room, like I need a bigger space for whatever she wants to show me.
Reluctantly, I log into the account I barely ever use. “What exactly do you want to show me?”
“Search Dominic.”
My patience thins instantly. “Why the fuck would I be searching my husband’s name? What ridiculous game are you playing, Melanie?”
“Just do it. Please.”
With a frustrated sigh, I type his name into the search bar and click on the first video I see.
“What the fuck is this?” My gaze stays fixed on my screen, watching Dominic…watching my husband curled in bed with a half-naked woman. My head jerks in disbelief. No. This has to be old footage, something from before we got married. There’s no way Dominic would do this to me. He might not love me, but he respects me enough to stay faithful.
Or so I thought.
