I suspect if I’d let it happen, it would have felt good. Afuck youto my husband.
I’m also thinking it would be bad, that it could ruin our friendship, this connection of two like minds in a world where everyone else is different.
And then I have a moment of realization: I have to talk to Brian.
As I stared at his hotel room last night, something didn’t feel right. Didn’t feel like the man I knew. Of course, he’d probably say the same thing about me—My perfect wife, Nadia, killing people? No way!
But I have to know. I have totalkto him, have to understand what he’s doing, and know he’s really doing it. Then I can kill him, collect the contract money, get my job back.
And then maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll be able to move on.
Chapter Forty-One
“I cannot believe him. Whatan asshole. Douchebag. Arrogant piece of—”
“Language!” I glare at Piper across the picnic blanket. “Little ears,” I tack on, immediately disgusted at myself for saying the phrase out loud. It’s a favorite the moms at the girls’ school use entirely too often.
“So, he like—” Piper shoves a lock of balayaged shoulder-length hair behind her ear where a large gold earring dangles. “Just took her into his room?”
The plastic cup in my hand contains cheap wine from the pool snack shop, and I sip the overly sweet liquid, putting off answering her. I thought coming clean to Piper aboutpartof what’s going on would help in some way; instead, I’m annoyed at her too.
“Mama, pool?” Evie asks, eyes full of hope.
“Of course, baby. Here, wear your hat.” I settle an oversized sun visor on her head, do the same for Eliza, and as they go to splash in the little kids’ pool—a foot deep at most—I clean up wrappers from our improvised picnic lunch. The healthy items I brought, like carrot sticks and veggie straws, were no match forthe Pringles and ice-cream sandwich Piper bought them when she insisted we have wine.Your husband cheated on you. Drinking is required,she’d said. And honestly, she was right. But I’m far more in the mood to do the sort of drinking that happens in a shitty bar where no one will recognize you than at the Heights Pool, a private club with fancy swim lessons from junior Olympians, wine on tap, and lifeguards who may or may not have been hired because of how they look in a red Speedo.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Yes, he took her into his room.” I crumple up a napkin, put the lid on the can of chips, studiously rearrange things on the blanket. It would have been better to kill him while we were still in San Diego. I could have made it look like an accident, and then Piper would be comforting me about becoming a widow instead of the woman scorned. Though if the police had discovered I’d also been in California—and they would have—I undoubtedly would have been a prime suspect.
I pause long enough to look across the grassy expanse to the pool where the girls splash, shrieking with delight as they take turns climbing out and jumping in. Everything I do has to be about them from now on. Every thought, every decision. Losing their father will not be easy, but I’ll make sure they get through it—make sureIget through it. Somehow.
“I’m going to call my friend—she just went through a divorce, and she goteverything. And boy howdy, do I mean everything. The house in Aspen, the—”
“Did you just say ‘boy howdy’?”
“Shut up.” Piper stabs at her phone. “Anyway, I’ll get her lawyer’s number. Oh, speaking of…” Piper lowers her heart-shaped sunglasses far enough to cock an eyebrow at me. “Do you need help money-wise? I know you combined finances. If he’ll noticethe cash is gone when you hire someone, or if you want to do it quietly…”
It takes me a moment to summon words. Piper is notoriously stingy with money, which is one reason she’s so successful. “I have money. My…business account. It’s separate.” But I’m touched that she’d offer.
“Your phone is ringing,” Piper says.
I look down, and sure enough, the screen is lit up, though the glare from the Texas sun makes it blinding to look at it. Stepping under the shade of a tree, I squint to find Brian’s name there.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
“Language!” my sister snickers between sips of wine.
I sigh, decline the call, flop back down beside her, and take a long pull off the vino, only for my phone to beep at me, demanding my attention again.
“Who is it?” she asks, like she might throttle them for me.
“Who do you think?”
“It’shim?” She sits up, reaches for the device.
“No,” I snap. “You’ll ruin the element of surprise.”
She grins. “Surprise?”
