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Last time I did was two years ago, after a company Christmas party, along with two attractive interns who’d wanted a taste of an orgy. Ho, ho, ho, indeed.
I lumbered over to the angle she was talking about, clicking my camera.
I hated doing commercial work, and probably would’ve found a way to avoid it if it wasn’t for Duffy, who was too much of a temptation as long as we were cohabiting a continent.
Unfortunately, an entire ocean still wasn’t enough to keep her off my mind. I’d been miserable ever since I landed in Morocco, feeling homesick, lovestruck, and, worst of all—like a coward.
Problem was, you’re never homesick for the walls or the furniture. You’re homesick for the people who share it with you. My wife had grown on me in the weeks we’d spent together, and now being away from her felt like an unscratchable itch. I could turn my skin inside out and still go wild with misery.
After taking a gazillion pictures of the pool, which was bracketed by acres of green grass, luxurious orange recliners, and dining tables, I walked over to the outdoor spa, with its velvet burgundy seats and golden walls.
Elin followed me, her heels clapping the marble beneath us. “It’s beautiful out here, isn’t it?”
“Hmm.”
I was only able to provide monosyllabic answers these days. Even that was a stretch.
“Do you have any plans after we wrap this up?” Elin purred. “We’re almost finished.”
“I think I’ll call it an early night.” I hoisted my camera over my shoulder.
Elin bit down on her lip in my periphery. “You know I broke up with Neil, right?”
I didn’t even know who Neilwas. Only that four months after our Christmas sexcapade, when I’d called her to see if she was interested in a sequel, she’d said she had a boyfriend.
“Sorry to hear.”
“You shouldn’t be. He was an asshole.”
We got to the spa. I started taking pictures, wishing she’d take a hike. But Elin, while good at writing marketing pieces about luxury hotels, was bad at reading signals, so she decided to hammer the suggestion home while grinding her tits against my arm.
“We could have dinner together.”
“Not hungry.”
“Then we can go straight to dessert.” She giggled.
I turned around to her, a frown on my face. “Didn’t you hear I got married?”
The news must’ve made the rounds. Emmett had a mouth the size of Montana. Gossip was his favorite sport.
This made Elin pale. “Emmett might’ve mentioned something.”
“And you still thought I’d be game?”
Her mouth hung open. Good-natured, always-up-for-fun Riggs was obviously MIA.
“You’ve never been in a relationship the entire time I’ve known you. I just figured—”
“Figured what?” I knew I was directing my anger at the wrong person but still couldn’t help myself. I was on edge, waiting to see how much money Daphne was going to ask from my accountant and what kind of legal documents would be waiting for me back home to secure my wife’s personal wealth.
“Figured it wasn’t serious. Your marriage, I mean.” She pursed her lips, then said, “I mean ... is it? Is it real?”
Maybe it was Emmett who’d sent her to ask. Hell, maybe he’d sent her to tempt me, just for funsies.
“It’s very real,” I heard myself say. “It’s the realest thing I’ve ever achieved, so do yourself a favor and never ask again.”
The weeks leading up to Duffy’s visa interview were spent taking every bullshit assignment Emmett could give me to get me out of New York and crashing at my friends’ places, watching as they did lovey-dovey shit with their wives. I finally got it. Why they were content losing their freedom for someone else. I’d never felt so trapped in my life, living without the woman I was in love with.
