I swear to God, I just saw the light bulb turn on inside her head.

  “Yeah, you’re right,” she murmurs. “Okay, then. I’ll get you a room for tomorrow night.” Her attention stays trained on her hands as she continues to nervously shift around her coffee mug. There’s barely any eye contact at all when she continues. “It’s a historical luxury hotel. Michelin-starred food. You’ll need a nice dress.”

  “Why a dress?”

  Her eyes fall shut for a moment and she fidgets before, almost painfully, saying, “Because legs turn him on.” Finally, her eyes lift to meet mine, revealing the slightest hint of tears that well along her bottom lid. “He likes a feminine woman, but a confident one. So, don’t be too meek.”

  When her head drops again, I worry she’s doubting this whole plan, but I can’t have her wavering because I need this. I need the payout. Reaching my hand across the table, I rest it on top of hers, whispering, “Are you okay?”

  She shakes her head, peering up at me. “No . . . no, I’m not okay. None of this is okay.”

  “But you’re right, you know?” I encourage. “You can’t let this man rip your whole life apart and get away with it. He’s using you, Carly.”

  Her jaw tightens as she nods. “I know. This is just . . . this is so unlike me.”

  “You have to take a stand for yourself.”

  She doesn’t respond, and I get the feeling that pushing too hard would be a mistake, so I get back to the plan. “When do you want this to happen?”

  She veers away from whatever thoughts are consuming her and takes another sip of coffee. “He has a strategy meeting tonight, so I was thinking tomorrow.”

  “And you think he’ll be that easy?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know. It might take a little time, but for now, just do your best to make an impression on him. He can be quiet, you know? It sometimes comes off as rude, but that’s just his personality, so don’t take it to heart.”

  “No part of my heart is involved in this,” I say, and her head lifts so she can look me in the eyes.

  “It’s a job, right?”

  “Right.”

  “And the money?” I ask because I’m not doing this for her; I’m doing it for me, and it’s imperative that I get the money sooner rather than later.

  “Oh, right,” she mumbles as she starts digging in her oversized purse. She then pulls out an envelope and discretely slides it across the table. “It’s all there. Ten thousand. After the two of you . . . well, you know . . . I’ll pay you the rest.” She reads my hesitation, and assures, “You have my word.”

  Pulling the envelope down to my lap, I take a peek inside to see a stack of hundreds bundled together. “And the dress?”

  “What about it?”

  “I’ll need money to buy one,” I say as if I don’t already have a perfectly appropriate dress hanging in my closet. I might as well get what I can out of her.

  “Oh.” She seems caught off guard with my request, but if she wants me to play the part, she’s going to have to foot the entire bill. Fumbling around in her purse again, she takes out her wallet and pulls out a few bills. “Here. I think two hundred should cover a dress. Make it appropriate. Nothing too skimpy or flashy. Keep it simple.”

  I take the money and shove it and the envelope into my purse.

  “And your hair . . . wear it down.”

  I take note of her instructions and then ask, “What happens after?”

  “After you make contact with him, call me and I’ll come meet you. I want to know everything that happens. Every detail.”

  She turns nervous again.

  “Are you okay?”

  “You’re, um . . .” She clears her throat lightly, and a flush stains her cheeks. “You’re clean, right?”

  Her insinuation that I’m anything but irks me, but I don’t let my irritation show and tell myself that it’s a reasonable question nowadays. “Yes, of course I am.”

  With her eyes downcast, she tosses a few bucks onto the table, slips on her coat, and grabs her purse. Before she stands, she adds, “I’ll book you a room under your name for tomorrow.” And with that, she turns her back to me and rushes out of the diner, leaving me to myself.

  I peer out the foggy window while she gets into her car, clearly unstable as tears slip down her cheeks. The moment she drives away is the moment I empty my lungs with the heaviest sigh of my life.

  Hanging my head, I tell myself over and over again that I can do this. That I have to do this—for me and for my brother. When I look down and see the manila envelope in my purse, a feeling I haven’t felt in a very long time washes over me and my lips lift.

  Relief.

  My smile grows, and when I gather my things and walk out to my car, I swear a giggle slips out. Heading straight back to DC, my first stop is the bank to deposit the money. After calling my brother’s residential facility and paying the bill, I decide to go shopping for a new dress. But shit if I don’t feel like treating myself to something special after all the stress I’ve been under.

  Not wanting to fight traffic, I leave my car at the bank and take the Metro, which drops me off near a local boutique I love. I haven’t actually been able to shop here, but that has never stopped me from coming in from time to time to browse the latest designers and trends.

  Everything costs more than two hundred dollars, but when the sales clerk tells me about the clearance rack in the back of the store, I’m able to find a few dresses to try on. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt the air of levity. I’m so lost in the reprieve as I’m trying on these dresses that I’m not even thinking about the possibility of Carly’s husband taking it off me.

  No.

  I simply enjoy this moment, because who knows when the other shoe is going to drop?

  When I think I’ve found the one, I step out of the fitting room to look at myself in the trifold mirror and smooth my hands along the lush navy fabric. The front of the dress is modest and shows just the right amount of cleavage to still be considered tasteful, but the back boasts a deep plunge. It’s a striking dress, tailored to the knees but elegant and proper.

  “Wow. Stunning.”

  In the reflection of the mirror, I spot Olivia from over my shoulder, and I turn and give her a warm smile. “What are you doing here?”

  She lifts the necktie she has in her hand. “Tripp spilled coffee on his tie this morning, and he has an important meeting tonight, so here I am.”

  A part of me wants to pick her brain about everything Tripp, but I refrain and give her a quick and discreet once over. She is the woman he’s cheating on Carly with, so I want to make sure I bear resemblance to her.

  “What’s the occasion?”

  “Oh, um . . . it’s for a Cystic Fibrosis Charity Gala back home in Tennessee.” The lie comes quick and easy, simply rolling off my tongue.

  “What a wonderful cause,” she remarks, to which I smile in agreement. “I’m sorry I never called you after the New Year’s Eve party. Things have just been so busy.”

  “No worries. I’ve been pretty tied up myself. What does your schedule look like later this week? You free for lunch?” I ask, even though I have no desire to get to know her better. Hell, maybe she’ll open up to me about Tripp. At this point, with the position I’m in, I should probably keep this girl close to me.

  She scrolls through her phone, saying, “How about Thursday? Sometime in the afternoon?”

  Since I have no job and I’m no longer in school, I don’t even have to check my calendar. “Yeah. Thursday sounds great. You still have my number?”

  “Yes. I’ll pick a spot to meet and text you.”

  “Great. I’m looking forward to it.” It isn’t a total fib, but it also isn’t the truth.

  While she heads toward the register to purchase the tie, I slip back into the dressing room to change.

  “Did any of those work for you?” the sales associate asks when I step out.

  “I think I’ll take this one,” I say, handing her the dress.

  “Perfect choice.”

  Relaxed, I hand over my bank card without fear of it being declined. When she zips the dress up in a hanging bag, I smile as I take it from her.

  Happiness is an old friend I haven’t seen in over a year, and I embrace it. Sure, it’s a bit dented and sinister, but I’m not trying to dissect what I’ve been longing to feel.

  When I arrive back home, Luca is watching television in the living room.

  “Where have you been?” he asks, eyeing the garment bag draped over my arm.

  “Shopping. I needed a new dress for interviews.”

  “I still can’t believe you got fired.”

  I head to my room, and Luca follows, stopping at the door.

  “Is everything okay?”

  I hang the dress in the closet and tell him from over my shoulder, “Yeah, I’m fine. Yesterday was a crappy day. No big deal. Sorry I snapped at you.”

  Leaning against the doorjamb, he stares at me with concern.

  “I promise, Luca,” I try to assure. “I’m fine.”

  “I worry about you.”

  “Don’t.”

  “I just know that whatever you’re going though is a lot and that you probably aren’t talking about it with anyone.”

  “I talk to Mrs. Montgomery,” I defend.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Well, if it makes you happy, I just so happen to have a coffee date later this week with Olivia.”

  “Olivia?” he groans as he strolls across the room and sits on the edge of my bed. “Just do me favor and try not to bring her around. She’s a clinger.”

  “You’re so full of yourself.” I laugh. “You really think she’s still hung up on you? You guys hooked up a couple of years ago.”

  “Hey, what can I say. I leave a lasting impression.”

  “You need an ego check.”

  “You wouldn’t be saying that if you’d give me a chance,” he teases with a cocked brow.

  I roll my eyes, and he shoots me a smirk.

  “Just sayin’.”

  When he stands to leave, I stop him with a quick, “Oh hey, I’m going to be making a quick trip back home tomorrow, but I’ll be back the following day.”

  “What’s going on back home?”

  “My niece has a school performance, and I promised her at Christmas that I would attend.”

  “Cool. I’ll see you when you get back,” he responds, not even batting an eyelash at my deceit.

  The rest of the day passes with ease. I even call Matthew to check in and see how he’s doing. He’s agitated, and his audible ticks have become more frequent, which is a sign of anxiety. I promise myself that I’m going to find him a better home once I get back on my feet.

  Luca and I camp out on the couch, eating Chinese takeout and watching a movie until we both fall asleep.

  It isn’t until I wake up that the boulder in the pit of my stomach returns. The gloom hovering above me has returned, and I’ve been a bundle of nerves all day. I go to The Jefferson in the afternoon to check in and pick up my room key, and then I walk around the prestigious hotel, familiarizing myself with the space, making sure to peek my head into Quill.

  When I go up to see the room Carly booked for me, I am blown away by the opulence and end up hanging out there for a while. If only my mind weren’t spinning in a million different directions, I could enjoy it. But it is, so I can’t, and I end up going back home.

  Luca isn’t here. He has an evening class tonight and he always goes out to a local bar with his buddies afterward, so I don’t have to worry about him seeing me when I’m supposed to be in Tennessee.

  Jittery hands make it difficult to apply my mascara, but when I take a step back from the mirror in my bedroom, you would never know the level of anxiety I’m under. I’m also freaking out because, if Olivia is with him, I’m screwed, and not in the good way.

  “Pull yourself together,” I murmur as I slip on my nude heels.

  Wearing my long blonde hair down, just like Carly instructed, I look at the con I’m about to become, sheathed in a designer dress and about to seduce a well-respected politician.

  I feel like a cliché of sorts, but I keep my eye on the endgame, which is the paycheck. I need this money. Ten thousand isn’t nearly enough, but the full fifty will be a good start.

  I check the clock.

  It’s game time.

  The drive to the hotel is short, but I forgo the expensive valet and park a block down in a garage. With my umbrella in hand and my wool coat wrapped around me, I make my way down the street.

  Snow has given way to rain, which is already starting to freeze in small patches. My heart beats wildly, and I do my best to slow its tempo to match the clicking of my heels against the pavement, but it’s a failed feat.

  When I approach the hotel, the windows are fogged over, making it difficult to see in, but I know he’s there. That thought alone releases a swarm of bees within my stomach.

  “You can do this,” I whisper before opening the door and stepping inside.

  “Evening, Miss,” a gentleman greets when I make my way into the lounge. “May I?”

  With a polite nod, I allow him to help me with my coat. “Thank you.” I then hand him my umbrella before he rushes off to check them.

  My eyes skitter across the lavish lounge, rich in mahogany and deep-brown leather. It’s nearly empty, but he’s here.

  Holy shit, there he is.

  Something inside me dip-dives as I watch him from across the room. He sits at the bar with an open briefcase to one side and an almost empty tumbler in front to the other. Carly was right—he’s hard at work. His suit jacket is draped over the back of his chair and the sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled up.

  After a silent pep talk, I remind myself of what Carly told me earlier and the demeanor I should have. More than anything, I think of my brother and how I can’t fail him. He needs me, so I have to do this.

  I approach the bar and notice him rubbing his forehead after he slips off his glasses that he never wears when he’s on television.

  “May I?” I question as I take the seat next to him, thankful that this man is sharply handsome and not some ogre.

  “Um, of course . . . yes.”

  He seems flustered, or maybe he’s just tired. Eyeing his open briefcase with papers scattered about, I ask, “Working off the clock?”

  He looks over to me, smelling of spiced cologne and scotch. “In my line of work, there are no clocks.”

  “What can I get for you?” the bartender inquires as he sets a cocktail napkin in front of me.

  “Grey Goose martini, up, stirred, with a twist.”

  I’ve never tasted the drink before, but it’s what Luca’s mother drinks so I figured I couldn’t go wrong.

  When I turn my attention back to my target, he’s wearing a slight smirk, and oddly enough, it eases my tension.

  “So, no clocks,” I state. “How do you know when to stop?”

  The clink of the martini glass being set in front of me sounds at the same moment his eyes land on my cleavage.

  “I’m not a man who likes to stop.”

  Carly

  Alone at the dining table with an empty bottle of wine.

  How has this become my life?

  The rain gave way to snow a few hours ago, and it feels like a reflection of my soul. A metamorphosis seemingly beyond my control.

  Only, I am in control. It is by my hand that I sit here, in the early hours of the morning, turning my blood into alcohol as I wait for the call. My eyes burn from lack of sleep and the many tears that have slipped out of them today.

  Salt eating flesh.

  Thoughts tormenting me.

  It’s after three in the morning, and I can’t stop torturing myself with thoughts of what the two of them are doing that’s preventing her from calling.

  What have I done?

  I’m second-guessing this plan in its entirety, but there’s no turning back. At least I know that Emma is on my side, and she’ll tell me everything I need to know. It’s the other women I have to worry about—the wild cards who are looking for their ticket to advance in social standing. Or maybe it’s the thrill of the forbidden that drives them to married men.

  Yet, here I sit, a desperate wife, doing what she can to regain control of her life. When I walk away from this marriage, I’ll be damned if my head isn’t held high.

  The wine acts to medicate me, putting me to sleep right here at the table with my head resting upon my folded arms.

  When the chiming on my phone wakes me, I raise my head and squint against the morning sun that’s pouring into the room. My head spins, and when I pick up the phone to read the text, it takes a moment for my vision to clear from the haze.

  Emma: Tripp just left my room to go to work. The coast is clear.

  Putrid gurgling from my gut makes me flee from the table. Sour bile rises as I run to the kitchen sink because there’s no way I’ll make it to the restroom. With my hands braced on the edge of the glazed lava stone countertop, I vomit the burning remnants of last night’s wine into the sink. My stomach bubbles in disgust as another round barrels its way up my throat.

  Flicking on the faucet, I hang my head as the tears fall.

  He spent the entire night with her.

  I swish my mouth out with water and then soak a paper towel and press it along the back of my neck. The effort to right myself is for naught. All I can hear is the echo of Margot’s words in my head.

  “Without hard evidence to back your accusations, you’re disposable—not him.”

  “Get it together, Carly,” I tell myself because I need to hear the words. I need them to give me strength because I have to become an armored shield when I see Emma and listen to what she has to tell me.

  I let my mind go straight to the very thoughts I typically try so hard to bury—Tripp in bed with these women. I think of the sounds they make, the words they speak, their writhing bodies. The visions that play in my head infuriate me, and before I know it, my hands are fisted so tightly they’re shaking. I remind myself of the life my husband stole from me—and for what? For a tryst?