Page 101 of The Bad Husband

They talk about the… weather? Traveling to New York?

New York?

When are they planning to go to New York?

Silverware clinks against plates as they talk monotonously, some words lost in the domestic noise.

Are they having dinner? Together?

Are they sitting at the beautiful kitchen island where he just fucked me, and they’re bonding over dinner?

The afterglow dies a brutal death in the fangs of jealousy.

Why does it bother me so much?

Because it reminds me that these two people have history together. They sound like two married people enjoying each other’s presence.

Despite what he said to me, and I believed every word, that’s how they sound.

Initially, I wanted to eavesdrop on them and return to my room. If I had gotten caught, I would’ve said I just got out of bed and needed a glass of water.

But now?

I move back to the stairs, take a few steps up, spin around, and walk down as I’d normally would if I didn’t sneak up on people.

I make a point out of creating some noise so they know I’m coming and not suspect that I was actually spying on them.

Frankly, I’ve never been good at acting, so despite my best efforts, I sound fake when I enter the kitchen and pretend to be surprised that they’re here.

“You two found each other,” I murmur, not putting the slightest effort into how I look.

I know his eyes are on me.

I feel their curiosity and intensity on my face. I also know how the two of them are positioned around the kitchen island.

He’s facing the entrance. She has her back turned to me. Shifting in her seat, she looks at me. I think she’s chewing on her food.

They’re both eating, glasses of wine in front of them.

My hand squeezes a bottle of water too damn hard as I grab it out of the refrigerator.

As I turn to them, I meet her scrutinizing eyes.

From her expression, I gather that she likes what she sees. She honestly enjoys that my hair is in disarray, and I look as if I fell out of a bus.

“How’s dinner?” I ask to shift her focus away from me, and then I realize what a big mistake I’ve made.

His expression clues me in.

He lifts his chin up and looks at me as if I stepped into a turd and the smell has spread around the kitchen.

Then he purses his lips and bites the inside of his cheek. She notices the direction of my stare and turns to him. That’s when the second clue becomes evident.

His face is blank, his demeanor changed.

The tension vanishes from his shoulders as he drops his elbows onto the counter and runs a hand through his hair, looking bored as fuck.

He doesn’t make eye contact with her, so she shifts her stare to me. Henrietta is not dumb.