Page 37 of Sins of Arrogance

There are a lot of things I still don’t know about my hus­band af­ter seven years of mar­riage and hav­ing a child to­gether. But how scary smart he is, isn’t one of them. If only his emo­tional in­tel­li­gence was equally im­pres­sive.

“Mommy taught me,” Fitzy is quick to point out.

“Aye. Your mam is smart as they come, isn’t she?”

Teach­ing our six-year-old to rec­og­nize words by sight makes me smart? Who knew? I would have said it in­di­cated pa­tience.

A few min­utes later, Fitz is play­ing in his room while his da and I get ready for din­ner.

And talk, ap­par­ently.

I’m not feel­ing ei­ther smart or pa­tient now. But an­gry? I’m fizzing with it.

I can’t be­lieve what I’m hear­ing. “Are you se­ri­ously ask­ing me to apol­o­gize to your ex-girl­friend for her mis­un­der­stand­ing and caus­ing an is­sue?”

“You don’t need to be jeal­ous of her, Kara. You’re my wife.” Mick ad­justs the cuff­links on the new shirt he changed into for din­ner.

Why? Was the other one sweaty?

What from?

His chat with Dier­dre?

“I know who and what I am,” I grit out. “And I’m not jeal­ous of her.”

Okay, that’s a to­tal lie. But it was true be­fore this con­ver­sa­tion started.

Mostly.

“When you re­peat­edly re­fer to her as my ex-girl­friend, that tells me you’re jeal­ous. And you know there’s no rea­son to be.”

Do I though? Do I re­ally know that?

“Be­lieve what you want.” I turn away to brush my hair into a sleek pony­tail.

Why do I straighten my nat­u­ral curls?

There’s no an­swer to that ques­tion in the eyes of the woman star­ing back at me from the van­ity mir­ror. But the man pulling on a suit jacket in the back­ground might be one.

I started straight­en­ing my hair right af­ter we got mar­ried. I thought it made me look older. Now, it’s habit.

But some­how the so­phis­ti­cated woman star­ing back at me, eyes pools of un­cer­tainty, is a stranger.

I smooth my dress and face my hus­band so our gazes meet.

So, there can be no ques­tion I mean the words I’m about to say. “I am not go­ing to apol­o­gize when I did noth­ing wrong.”

“Per­haps she mis­in­ter­preted some­thing you said.”

“You said that al­ready.”

Mick’s lips flat­ten. “We both know you have a ten­dency to­ward jeal­ousy. It’s not un­rea­son­able in the face of an ex, but it is un­nec­es­sary.”

My eyes nar­row to slits. “I had preg­nancy and then post­par­tum hor­mones rag­ing through my body when my jeal­ousy was an is­sue. I’m nearly twenty-five now. And I’m not walk­ing around look­ing like I have a ball shaped condo at­tached to my front.”

“You were beau­ti­ful preg­nant.”

Mick so rarely turns the Irish blar­ney on me. But re­ally?