Page 47 of The Bad Husband

He had his back turned to me while I kept trying to step in front of him and see his face.

That fueled my anxiety, too.

I’ve never been a fan of mixed messages, and the fact that I can’t trust him––how could I?––makes me harbor conflicting feelings about him.

And don’t start me on Henrietta. I’m surprised she hasn’t made an appearance in my dream.

Sighing, I look out the window.

Why is it so hot? And what time is it?

I climb out of bed and walk to the French doors. A faint pink light blooms at the horizon.

Surprise, surprise.

I’ve only slept a couple of hours.

I pivot away and check the AC. It hums quietly.

My dreams must have made me sweat.

Yawning, I put on a sheer short robe over my shorts and tank top before moving to the bathroom.

A noise rings outside, making me freeze in the doorway.

I shift my head toward the main entrance and listen. A few steps trail up.

With all the sophisticated security in the house, I can’t say I feel safe. Against my better judgment, I turn around and move toward the exit.

Slowly, I open the door, crane my neck out, and peer down the corridor. A faint light slips from under a door.

That must be a bathroom.

The light dims, and no one walks out.

That’s not exactly what I wanted to see.

I initially pull back before realizing I won’t be able to sleep unless I find out who is in the house.

Is it her? Henrietta?

Somehow, the thought of her being in the house scares me even more than the thought of him being here.

But why? Why would she be here?

They left a few hours ago.

I step out, close the door behind me, and tiptoe to that particular room. Yes, it’s a bathroom. The door is open, and a quiet sound comes from inside.

It must be him.

“Mr. West?” I call quietly, just in case his wife is shaving her legs with him inside.

The noise stops, and steps move inside before the door opens and our eyes meet.

I instinctively step back.

This is probably the last thing I should be thinking about now, but…Wow. He looks amazing.