Page 18 of The Bad Husband

When did he come back?

I didn’t hear his car approaching the driveway.

I back away from the patio doors, and once I’m out of his line of sight, I run to the stairs, and a few steps down, enough to look outside.

His car is not in front of the house.

Could it be in the garage? Yes, it could. I don’t know this house that well.

I suppose there’s a garage, or more than one, attached to this house.

The smart thing to do would be to turn back, but I’m also so curious about this story that I have to do what I’m about to do.

I go back, put on some slippers, and return to the stairs. Not caring much that I might run into him and need to offer him an explanation, I slip out of the house and move as quickly as I can toward the gate.

What if the gate has lights, a camera, and some security system that will start blaring at me in the middle of the night?

It probably has all of the above, but I need to make sense of all this.

Once I reach the fence surrounding the property, I keep away from the gate and try to sneak a peek outside.

Is he that crazy that he left his car parked outside his property and returned on foot for whatever reason?

Hopefully, it wasn’t because of me.

I barely finish that thought, and I notice the black car sitting on the shoulder of the road with its lights on.

The man is crazy.

What matters more is that I’m not.

Sighing with relief, I laugh quietly but not for long. A beeping sound alerts me to the presence of someone else not far from me.

The gate opens while I flick my eyes in that direction.

He slides his suit jacket on as if that was the sole reason he had returned to the house.

“Next time you take a night stroll by the fence, wear something nice. The cameras––he points up––take pictures every five seconds. For the cops,” he adds leisurely, no longer looking at me, about to step out.

“About that.”

He stops and turns to me, an eyebrow lifted, a silver or platinum necklace glinting at the top of his chest.

He’s hot like sin, this man.

He’s also bad news.

“I’m listening.”

“Never mind,” I say, swiftly changing my mind.

He dismisses me with a flick of his hand, his car greeting him with a mellow sound.

“Go get some sleep, Lila Skye,” he tosses at me over his shoulder, and I watch him slide into his ride and veer away, this time for good.

LILA

I spend an hour coming up with something nice to wear on Monday morning.