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Anne’s head shot up when the cop spoke. “Mark?!”
“I hear there’s a birthday girl in the car.” Anne’s husband grinned back at her, his once-brown hair now peppered with handsome gray. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”
“What are you doing here?” Anne blinked. “How did you know…”
“I told him,” Eliza said with a quick smile in the rearview mirror. “He called me last week and asked where I’d be taking you out to dinner.”
“I’ve never missed my wife’s birthday,” Mark said in explanation to Penny. Then he gave his full attention to Anne. “And I wouldn’t miss this one, either. I love you, honey.”
“Holy shit.” Penny clasped her hands to her chest. “This is like a real, honest-to-God movie moment. I love it. You are so freaking lucky, Anne.”
Anne felt torn in half. The old and the new warred within her. Their original love—a love that had started as two college students in lust—had grown into a mature, tender sort of love. The sort of hard-earned love that was forged as Anne had watched Mark play with their children. As she’d witnessed him giving up nights and weekends to work overtime and keep food on the table. That sort of love was supposed to last a lifetime.
But that old love was tarnished now, diluted by lies and half-truths. There had been so much piled on Anne in the past year that she didn’t know what to believe anymore. As she watched her husband slide toward the back seat and pull the door open, extending a hand toward her like a prince pulling his bride from a chariot, she eased her hand into his and let him guide her out of the car.
There, on the shoulder of Hollywood Boulevard, Mark drew Anne into his arms. She inhaled his scent, a unique mix of woodsy cologne and simple Irish Spring soap. It never ceased to bring her comfort. His lips met hers, familiar in their touch, their softness, their care. For a moment, Anne forgot everything. She let herself sink into her husband’s arms. When they parted, she had tears in her eyes. Because it was a Tuesday night, and Mark was here, with her, instead of at the god-awful apartment with that god-awful girl.
For tonight at least, Mark had chosen her. And if he could choose her once, he could choose her again. And again. And again. His affair meant nothing, Anne was sure of it. If she ignored it, there was a good chance it would fade into the background, a dirty little splotch on the otherwise happy pages of their love story. The only thing stopping them from being happy now was the miserable Roman Tate.
Mark saluted Eliza. Eliza waved and put the car in drive before carefully taking off down the street and leaving the couple alone on the side of the road.
“What is this all about?” Anne asked, suddenly feeling the dampness from the rain as it soaked through her clothes. “You’re never home this early.”
“I can be for you,” Mark said. “I love you, Anne. It’s your birthday.”
Anne stared helplessly after the convertible. “But Eliza’s got all my presents.”
Mark laughed, his blue eyes twinkling. “I’m sure she can drop them off later. Can I tempt you into a bit of dessert?”
“Are you joking?” Anne slid her hand into Mark’s. It was too easy to feel their original love rear its beautiful head. “That restaurant served me a lettuce leaf and called it the main course.”
“McDonald’s dollar menu work for you?”
“Is there any other place to get a sundae for a buck?”
Mark withdrew his hand from Anne’s and threw it over her shoulder instead. “I hope you know how much I love you.”
Anne seriously considered her answer. “I love you, too.”
It was the truth. So was the fact that Mark had lied. And as he opened the passenger’s side door to the police car for Anne, the tears that had pooled in her eyes began to fall.
It was such a shame that Anne’s fairy tale would have to end.
TRANSCRIPT
Defense: Tell me about your friendship with Penny Sands.
Eliza Tate: I don’t know, honestly.
Defense: You don’t know what?
Eliza Tate: Being on trial has made me rethink all my relationships. I thought I knew my husband, my client, and my best friends. Now, I’m not sure who is my friend and who is trying to frame me for murder.
Defense: It’s strange, don’t you think? We’ve got no shortage of motive in this trial. There are plenty of people who wanted the victim dead, and I think we can all agree on that. But the curious part is the evidence. We have plenty of that, too. We’ve got your fingerprints on the murder weapon. The knife that killed him was a gift to you from Mrs. Wilkes, and she had access to it. Even Detective Wilkes is under suspicion because he’s married to Mrs. Wilkes and could have helped her get rid of the body. But what about Ms. Sands?
Eliza Tate: What about her?
Defense: She had the biggest reason of all to want him dead, yet there’s not one trace of evidence that she might have killed him. Is she really that innocent, or is she smarter than the rest of you?
