"How long have they even been together?" His voice drops. "When did this happen? And why didn't he tell me until it was already done?"
"Maybe he knew you'd be upset."
"Or maybe he knew I'd ask questions." Asher releases me and runs both hands through his hair. "What if she really is just after his money? What if she talked him into this? He's not exactly known for his emotional intelligence, Julie. What if she's playing him?"
"You don't know that."
"Exactly. Because he kept her hidden like a fucking secret." He looks at me, and there's something in his eyes I've never seen before. Something dark and calculating. "I need to keep my head on a swivel and make sure this doesn’t go the wrong way. No fucking way am I going down without a fight because of some cunt.”
The air in the kitchen feels suddenly cold. "Asher. Do not use that word, please. "
"Why not? She probably is a cunt. And I'm not letting her take everything that should be mine, not after a lifetime of taking his goddamn shit.Fuck that."
He mumbles something beneath his breath that I don’t quite catch as he opens his phone and starts scrolling.
"Maybe there is no angle,” I say.
He pauses and stares at me for a second before he laughs incredulously, not a trace of humor in it. It’s weird. "Sometimes you’re too innocent for your own good,” he says, like it’s a character flaw. “There'salwaysan angle, Julie. Even when you don't see it. You should really pay better attention."
He stops then, looking at me with an expression that makes my breath hitch. Just as quickly the look is gone and he goes back to looking at the phone. I don’t know what the hell that was, but it was like looking at a stranger. He’s silent as he scrolls, his face illuminated by the blue glow of the screen. He’s furious.
And standing there in our kitchen, watching my husband rage scroll and obsess about losing everything, I wonder if the careful life we've built can survive him throwing the word cunt around to describe someone he hasn’t even met yet. It felt like I was listening to a stranger talk.
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
JULIE
We pullup to Dean's mansion right on time. Asher parks the car but doesn't immediately get out. His hands stay on the steering wheel, his knuckles white.
"You okay?" I ask.
"Not even a little." He releases the wheel and opens his door. "Let's get this over with."
The front door opens before we reach it. Dean stands in the doorway wearing a navy suit without the jacket, his shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. He looks relaxed. Pleased with himself.
"Asher. Julie." He steps aside to let us in. "Come in, come in. My wife and her daughter are in the dining room."
We follow Dean through the foyer, past the formal sitting room, past a flex space, past a less formal sitting room, and into the formal dining room where the long thirty seat table has been set for five. White linens. Crystal stemware. Candles are already lit even though it's still light outside. It seems preposterous that we’re having a family dinner in a room so large. But with Dean, I’ve come to learn that that’s the point. The show.
Two strangers stand near the far end of the table. The first is tall, blonde, probably in her early forties. She's wearing a cream silk blouse and tailored black pants. Her hair is pulled back, her makeup subtle but perfect. She's beautiful in that polished, expensive way that makes you think of country clubs and charity galas. The ring on her finger makes mine look like a chip in comparison. Gaudy doesn’t begin to cover what I’m seeing.
The second person is younger. Seventeen, I remind myself. But she looks older in her fitted black dress with a skirt that's just this side of too short, and heeled sandals. She has the same blonde hair as her mother, the same delicate bone structure. She's holding a wine glass, though I can tell it's filled with water.
"Caroline, Devon," Dean says. "This is my son Asher and his wife Julie."
Caroline steps forward first. Her handshake is firm, her smile practiced. "It's lovely to meet you both. Dean has told me so much about you."
"It's nice to meet you too," I say, though I'm not sure it's true yet.
Devon hangs back, her fingers wrapped around the stem of her glass. She looks nervous. When Asher doesn't move to greet her, I step forward.
"Hi, Devon. I'm Julie."
"Hi." She glances at Asher, then back at me. "It's nice to meet you."
"You too." I smile at her, trying to put her at ease.
