She scowled. “You know what you did. And you thought you could get away with it.”
“Can you just tell me how I fucked up, so I can apologize? You’ve barely said two words to me since we got here, and every time you look at me I see daggers in your eyes.”
It was true. Even now, I was getting nothing but pure loathing from her expression.
Of course that was the exact moment our town car rolled up.
“Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Malone,” the driver said, climbing out to open the back door for us.
Emzee nodded at him and slid into the back seat. I followed after her. By the time I was settled, my wife already had her back to me, eyes glued to her cell phone.
“Em?” I said, speaking softly.
“No,” she snapped. “Just don’t.”
I was at a loss. Despite my earlier fears, her attitude didn’t seem to have anything to do with the possible overwhelm of us embarking on the rest of our lives together as a couple. This seemed like…pure anger. What did I do?
Sighing, I loosened my bow tie and shrugged out of my suit jacket.
Retracing my steps following our quickie in the guest room at my parents’ place, I racked my brain trying to remember what I could have done or said to mess things up, some misstep I must have taken during the gala. Did I inadvertently insult a big name donor? Impossible. I’d been going to events like this since I was a kid. I knew how to act around these kinds of people.
Had I given Emzee the impression that I’d been flirting with other women? If so, it would only have been out of professional cordiality, to encourage more donations—no other woman could catch my attention these days. I was sure my wife knew that.
And sure, Claudia had been eye-fucking me all night, but that wasn’t my fault. I hadn’t encouraged it. Even if Emzee had caught sight of Claudia putting her hands on me, she would have also seen how quickly I brushed off my ex’s advances.
We were already halfway home. My place in Streeterville was barely a mile from the Four Seasons. The last thing I wanted was for us to go to bed angry once we got there.
“Please talk to me,” I tried again, but she didn’t look up from her phone. “Whatever it is, I can’t fix it if I don’t know what I did wrong.”
Tucking her phone into her bag, she glanced up at the privacy window separating us from the driver and seemed to realize that we were alone for the first time this evening.
“Actually, I’ve got a question for you,” she said, sliding closer to me, eyes narrowing.
“Okay. Shoot.”
“Do you remember our sophomore year at Wayland-Blaine? The year we met?”
Suddenly I was uneasy. “Yeah…”
“Who wrote that I was a whore on all the lockers? Who started all those rumors about me? Do you know anything about that, Ford? Hmm?”
The world dropped out from under me. How the hell did she find out about—
And then I realized exactly how. Of course.
Fucking Claudia.
I knew she was involved somehow. That explained her satisfied little grin. Her smug comments. Her marriage advice.
I was furious at Claudia, but I’d deal with her later. Right now, I needed to make things right with my wife. “Look, I can explain.”
“You,” she said, her voice full of disgust. “You’re the one who started all the rumors. Why? Just so you could be the one to save me from them? Do you have any idea how fucked up that is? Or what it feels like to know our entire relationship is based on a lie?”
My stomach churned. “But that was…” I started, then shook my head. “It was a long time ago, and you don’t have the full story—”
“I don’t need any more of your stories!” she cut me off. “I’ve had enough of them. Of you. So just stop.” She turned back toward the window, dismissing me like I barely mattered.
“There was more to it,” I insisted, feeling sick.
