Page 66 of The Bad Husband

Or he’ll become aware of it at some point.

I’m tempted to look up and wave, so he knows that I know that I’ve been watched.

He’s never made a secret out of it.

Jealousy?

Did he just say she’s doing something out of jealousy?

I miss several of their next words before I hear her say that she’s not jealous and only wants her money.

Her only wanting her money is hardly news for anyone in the house.

Only my poor father had believed that she was a divine gift––his second chance at reliving his youth.

He would’ve never in his life gotten the attention of someone like her if he hadn’t made a lot of money in the casino business.

My mother had warned him it wasn’t a good business to be in, and she wasn’t talking about the money he could make.

He could’ve started a construction company or bought a farm. She was of the belief that every line of work puts certain people into your life, and she was right.

The casino business brought Henrietta to him.

Henrietta is not jealous? How come? She is in the room, questioning him. Rightfully so, I might add, but then she’s talking about the money.

I only want my money.

Meaning she no longer has a problem with me being at the club?

How does she know I was there?

Who told her I was in the club?

Their conversation goes quiet, and I can’t make a word they’re saying before her heels ring behind the door and I spin around, not knowing which way to go.

I dash back and run down the same stairs I’ve advised Keira to take.

Panting, I stop at the bottom of the stairs.

I even drink a glass of water from a server’s tray before I spot Keira, put a smile on my face, and join her.

Seconds later, we both walk toward the crowd. I notice Henrietta, who surely must’ve seen me.

I can tell.

She looks like she’s sucked on sour bonbons for the past few minutes, and she’s simply ignoring me.

Then, I feel the heat of a stare on my back and step to the side and look up. Without making a secret out of the fact that he’s staring at me, Damon West studies me, his eyes telling me he’s thinking about me as much as I’m thinking about him.

He won’t peel his stare away, so if I want to break free from him, I’ll need to do it myself.

I look a little longer when Keira touches my arm.

“Who is that?” she murmurs, in awe.

“That’s Henrietta’s husband.”

“The bitch,” she says softly, laughing.