Page 4 of The Bad Husband

Whoever gets laid first buys dinner.

We’re two badass women with a plan, or so we’d like to think.

“Okay,” I say, my laughter fading as we inch closer to what looks like the majestic driveway wrapped around a lavish fountain in front of a Southern-style mansion with porch columns. “I just arrived,” I say, my brow creasing, my eyes narrowing. “I’ll be damn,” I go on, perhaps too impressed by what sprawls out in front of me.

LILA

People can be so silly sometimes. And by people I mean me, I muse, stepping out of the car and staring at the house.

My family and I lived nicely in a ludicrously expensive house in New York, but that house looked like a guesthouse next to this.

While it was well-maintained and had a historic vibe, it lacked the charm this house has.

The white columns and steps.

The porch and the wide windows.

The fine gravel driveway, and fountain water catching the afternoon light.

The chirping birds.

If I weren’t wearing sports shoes, a T-shirt, and a pair of stonewashed jeans, I could swear I just stepped onto a movie set with the camera crew on a break.

A woman wearing a simple yet finely tailored dress exits the house and walks in my direction, followed by another staff member.

“You must be Lila Skye,” the woman says, stretching her hand out. “I’m Livia, the housekeeper. Justin will take your luggage upstairs.”

“There’s no need to,” I say, embarrassed.

For one, all my belongings are crammed in a couple of travel bags and a backpack.

And secondly, even though we lived quite nicely in the past, my family and I have never had staff in the house.

Henrietta lived with my father in Manhattan, while I had my own place in Brooklyn, which worked fine for me. It still does when I go to school.

Henrietta wasn’t fond of having the help live in the house, so there must be different rules in her new husband’s house.

“Please,” the woman says with a smile. “I know you’ll only stay with us for a little while, but there’s no reason not to have a wonderful stay.”

With that, Justin picks up my things and walks ahead of us, while I follow Livia into the house.

If summer had a house, this would be it.

Light drips like golden honey over a masterfully designed stairwell and spills over the cream walls, marble floors, and fresh flowers overflowing in hand-painted vases.

The house is quiet, although we’re not alone.

As I look across the foyer and move my eyes over the blooming shrubs, rich vegetation, and oval pool outside the French doors, I notice several staff members working outside.

“How was your trip?” Livia asks, and we start up a conversation, although my focus is still on the house.

Who is the man Henrietta married?

He is about her age, therefore younger than my father. Early thirties, I would guess. What compelled him to marry this woman?

Keira and I can’t even get laid, and Henrietta can’t date a guy without getting married.

She’s built a little nest egg after collecting all those dead husbands and billionaire boyfriends, and he’s not penniless either.