It’s been a long day, and when my last client cancels, I breathe a sigh of relief. I can leave early and head home to the quietness of my house, where I can put my feet up and relax. I’ve been on my feet all day. That’s kind of how working as a masseuse is—standing, standing and more standing.
But don’t get me wrong. I love my job, and getting to help people is something I’ve always wanted to do. I take pride in knowing I can ease people’s pain or cramped muscles. Even if my husband, Sean, thinks my job is more of a hobby than a career.
Not everyone can be a world-famous rock star, touring constantly and making tons of money off albums, merchandise and everything else you can think of. Basically, his name alone brings in thousands of dollars a day.
That’s Sean.
Rock ‘n’ Roll money.
It’s the kind of money people dream about, and while I’d love to say he worked incredibly hard for it, that really isn’t the case. He was discovered almost immediately in a local bar in New York by a producer who signed him and the band to a deal that would rival any future deals for newcomers.
Again, the kind of money I’ve never even been able to imagine, but here I am.
I’ve gotten used to it, though, and I’ll admit, not having to think about how to pay bills or a mortgage has been nice. Our luxury condo in New York, on the Upper East Side, was paid for in cash, but before that, I lived in a little studio that wasn’t much bigger than a postage stamp. Actually, our closet is bigger than that place.
Thinking about it now, I can’t even believe I lived there.
How my life has changed.
I smile as I climb into the car, remembering that Sean and I are only a week away from our five-year wedding anniversary.
No one thought we’d last this long, including several of my friends, who have since disappeared from my life, claiming they can’t stand Sean. All I have left is my younger sister, Isla, and even she’s growing tired of Sean, spending less time with me than she used to.
He can be a little abrasive, and some may say arrogant, but he has a reason to be. He has a face that people recognize instantly and a career that’s even more recognizable. Every album the band has released has gone platinum. Not to mention that Sean negotiated an amazing deal with several music streaming services, making it so we’re set for life, and there’s something incredibly soothing about that.
After Isla and I lost our parents in a car accident, I’ve been grappling with wanting to start a family, needing to replace what was lost. Sean and I talk about it, but he keeps putting it off. Telling me that touring with the band makes it nearly impossible to start a family.
I roll my eyes, letting out a sigh, my thoughts a random mess, something that I attribute to my job. Silence is common, and being alone with my thoughts is even more common.
I remind myself to call Isla and set up a date for brunch. Despite her sourness toward Sean, I still make the effort to see her weekly. Even if most of the time is spent telling me what a dick Sean is, but she doesn’t get it. He’s stability, and that’s why when he proposed, I would have been a fool to say no.
Isla has always been more independent than I am, never relying on a guy to support her, but that’s where we’re different. Not that I rely on Sean to support me, I do have a job, but I guess I’ve just always needed someone to lean on.
Speaking of, I smile at the thought of coming home to him. The smell of his cologne, the way he lounges on the couch with his feet crossed at the ankles, watching recordings of his tours, analyzing what he could do differently or how he could make himself look better. Dinner will be waiting in the fridge for me when I get there, prepared by the personal chef he hires.
It’s easy.
About fifteen minutes later, I’m pulling into the underground parking garage and taking the elevator up to our penthouse condo that overlooks the towering high-rises of the city, the clouds mingling with it all. And all I can think is that I’m damn lucky.
Sean and I ran into each other in a park one day not far from where my old apartment was. I was out taking photographs of the changing leaves, and he mistook me for a paparazzi. He lost his shit, yelling at me, snatching my camera and telling me to delete the pictures. The whole interaction was crazy because I honestly had no idea who he was, but when the dust cleared, there was something charming about him— something that I’d never seen in guys I dated.
It almost felt like he asked me out because I had no idea who he was. Like he was testing me, waiting for me to call my friends, tell the media that I was going on a date with Sean English, but I didn’t. I never did, and here we are five years later.
Things took off pretty quickly from there, and even though I was only twenty-three, I didn’t think twice when he asked me to marry him only a year into dating. At twenty-four, we were walking down the aisle in a lavish ceremony that put some of the wealthiest celebrities to shame.
A girl’s dream wedding, if I do say so myself.
Despite the paparazzi helicopters flying overhead and having to have several people removed for trying to climb the fences to get that one shot.
But as the elevator door opens, I hear it, pausing only momentarily as the blood in my veins turns ice cold.
I stop again, listening, waiting for what I initially heard: the sound of voices, but not just any voices—my husband’s voice mingling with the moans of a female voice.
It’s heard well beyond the oversized front door, filling the hallway, and snaking itself into my ears. My heart stops beating for a split second.
But it can’t be.
Closing my eyes, I push my key into the lock, letting the door glide open with a laborious shove, hoping I’m just losing my mind. The sounds can’t be coming from my house. Not from my husband.
