Page 46 of The Awful Truth

“You’re full of metaphors today.”

“I’ve been drinking Red Bull all evening while I worked on this. It tends to make me a little dramatic.”

Sitting up, she lifted her chin, trying to gather her strength. “All right. How do I…rise from the ashes?”

“First thing is to continue pretending everything’s fine. You don’t have a clue about the affair while we look for anything we can use to prove it, okay? If he realizes what’s happening, he’ll try to control the narrative. The goal is to cut him off from any source of power he’ll have over the outcome.”

“I’d like to cut him off from his flow of oxygen.”

“I’m sure you would. And I know it’s gotta be tempting to scream in their faces, but that’ll only make you look crazy. It’ll also tell Travis that the two of you are no longer to be trusted. You’ll get dropped immediately. No compensation.”

“You don’t actually think I’m going to sign on to do the show again?!”

“Yes, you will. You’re going to need the money now more than ever. The two of you sign, then we force him to step back, citing health issues. You carry on by yourself, or better yet, I find you a hot young shrink to partner with. It’ll be a huge ratings-boost,” she said, already sounding excited about the next chapter of Antonia’s career. “Eventually, you break down on television and announce your divorce, crying into hot doctor’s shirt. You shift to being the face of surviving betrayal. You write a book about it—it’ll sell like fidget spinners at an ADHD convention. Then you either carry on with the show or take a bow and go live the good life. And he spends the rest of his days filled with regret for screwing up both your lives and his career.”

“Holy shit,” Antonia muttered.

“I work fast, which is why you pay me what you do.” Antonia heard the sound of Enid lighting a cigarette, then blowing out a puff of air before she continued. “Now, if you think you can manage it, you need to get Charlotte on your side before Ted knows anything. Play the nurturing boss, the wounded woman who believes she’s as much of a victim as you are.”

“Ha! As if.”

“Well…maybe?” Enid answered. “I mean, he does have a lot of power over her career, and he has the training to allow him to manipulate the shit out of people.”

Antonia felt those words in her gut. Just like he did to me.

When she didn’t answer, Enid continued. “Only do it if you can stop yourself from wringing her skinny neck. Remember, if you lose it on her, you lose everything.” She blew out more air. “Do you think you can handle that?”

Shutting her eyes tightly, Antonia said, “Maybe. I already survived lying awake last night while they were at it, and a breakfast with them laughing away with each other in their post-coital bliss.”

“Yes, you did. And you’ll survive whatever else is coming. Draw on all your shrink knowledge to get through this,” Enid told her. “And Danielle said if we can get proof of the affair, you’ll be golden.”

Antonia nodded. “Proof, right. They’re probably doing it right now.” Her eyes filled with tears and her voice cracked. Clearing her throat, she told herself this was just a business call. “But it’s not like I can get into the room without them knowing.”

“So we go back in time. Get a hold of your IT department. Tell them there’s been a possible security breach and you need everything backed up on external hard drives—emails, security footage at the office, everything.”

“Right, okay. That sounds smart. All our phones are paid for by the network, so maybe IT can find a way to get all their texts and photos.”

“Perfect. If you can do that, he’ll be sunk.”

10:04 A.M.

MIGUEL

The sun was high above the yacht by the time Miguel woke. His abdomen was heavy with the weight of the enormous dinner he’d eaten the night before. It would have been fine if he hadn’t made a pig of himself on the layered chocolate cake. But what could he do? Winslow kept spoon-feeding it to him to stop himself from overdoing it. And it was oh, so heavenly. But now, bloated and sluggish, he was filled with regret. (Or was that guilt?)

Glancing around the suite, he realized he was alone. The door to the bathroom was open, which meant Winslow must have gotten up early and sneaked away, probably on a call about whatever was going on at work. He stretched his body and forced himself to get up.

Today was the day. It had to be. The sooner the better. He’d tell him the truth while Winslow was trapped with him on this yacht. That way, there would be time for his husband to calm down long enough for Miguel to beg his forgiveness before they reached land.

After a quick shower (for Miguel anything under twenty minutes was quick—one had to exfoliate, after all), he hurried down the hall, peeking into the round windows of the common rooms and searching each deck. With every step, his worry grew, as if it were a bicycle tire being pumped up too full. His palms felt clammy as he tried to think of the best way to tell him the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. He finally found Winslow on the sun deck, sitting on the white sectional in the shade, talking on the phone.

“Yes…yes.” Pausing, Winslow offered him a wink. “Thank you, Sarah, I owe you my first born.” He let out a little laugh. “True. In that case, how about a dinner at Veeraswamy when we return next week? We can sort out the details over some vindaloo.”

Miguel sat down on the couch, his heart dropping to his huaraches. Winslow was on the phone with the woman from BBC. And she must have said yes to taking the meeting. Which meant that Miguel was about to make his husband look like a giant ass. His face must have displayed his dread, because Winslow’s eyebrows knit together as he rang off. “What’s wrong?”

Miguel opened his mouth to speak, but instead he gagged. Dammit. It was a nervous gag. Shaking his head, he held up one finger, then said, “I’m fine.”

“Clearly not, if you’re gagging. Are you seasick? Should I get you Cyclizine?”