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He didn’t answer.

My face fell. “You’re not going to work for him, are you.”

Silence.

“You let me believe that, and you never were,” I breathed.

The pained way he looked at me was the answer.

I felt sick.

Someone knocked on the door. It was Samantha.

“Larissa? We’re getting in the hot tub.”

“I’m coming. I’ll meet you there,” I called, trying not to let her hear the fracture in my voice.

Mike’s eyes searched my face, and I looked away from him.

“Did Chris know about the drinking?” I was almost afraid to ask.

“No,” he said.

“Are you sure?” I asked, turning back to him.

“Maybe a little of it. Not all of it. Please. Don’t break up with me.”

“I need to think, Mike.”

“For how long?”

“I don’t know.”

I had nowhere else to go now. I was living with this man.

I didn’t even have the safety of my own home to get some distance between us so I could think straight and make a rational decision about what to do next. I was trapped.

How did I end up here? I swore I would never be this woman. I should have been better at recognizing the signs by now, but I wasn’t and that was the hardest reality of all—that I couldn’t even trust my own judgment, that my instincts were this broken despite all my experiences with men just like this one.

Men who were drowning and refused to kick.

I grabbed my bathing suit, walked around him, and left.

37

CHRIS

Mike hadn’t cleaned out the pantry. Again.

The women were all in the hot tub. The guys were in the living room having drinks by the fire and I took advantage of the empty kitchen to make sure Mike had tossed the nuts. He hadn’t.

I felt so tired. Worn to the bone.

I took a box of peanut butter Clif Bars and dropped it into the trash. I checked the fridge and freezer next. Changed out the sponge. I was wiping down the counter when Mike came up behind me. “Hey.”

“What,” I said flatly, not turning around.

“You have a second? I want to show you something.”