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ChapterThirty-Seven
The shock crushes my lungs.It’s all I can do to drag in small breaths.
Art is married.
Art has a wife who isn’t me.
That had been an irrational fear of mine, that he had a secret wife in Russia.
Or maybe not so irrational. He did react strangely when I asked him if he was married.
How could it be true?
My heart squeezes painfully with each frantic beat. Visions of me in jail and of Art getting deported come back with a vengeance. Isn’t that what will happen if the government finds out about his polygamy? Definitely, and I have no doubt Black Swan will ensurethey do find out.
My mouth feels sandpapery as I start grasping at straws. Maybe Art was married but is now divorced? No, that doesn’t track. He told me he was never married. Either way, he lied to me—but why lie about being divorced? I would’ve been fine being his second wife, either fake or real. The only scenario that makes sense is that he never divorced—meaning he’s still married.
Fuck. I married a married man.
I’m a homewrecker. Well, a fake one, but still. Actually, not so fake. I’ve slept with him twice now. That’s properly homewrecker-ish.
My lungs constrict further. I feel as if an obese skunk is standing on my chest. Weirdly, there’s also a stinging on my index finger.
I bring the finger to eye level.
Just what I need. A papercut. Nine hundred and ninety-nine more to go for it to qualify as Chinese torture. Russian torture is what I’m already being put through.
Burning pressure builds behind my eyes, and I press the heels of my palms to them to stop the foolish tears from falling. Idiot. Why did I think Art would be interested in me? Of course he has a wife. Of course this was completely fake, a means to get a green card. I should never have—
“Hey, Lemon,” someone says, and I lower my hands to see Honey speed-walking toward me.
Frowning, she stops in front of me. “What is it? You’re paler than Gia.”
Before I can answer, the owner of the phone comes out, so I give it back and thank her in a shaky voice.
“You okay?” she asks, and I give her a tight smile.
“Yeah, thanks.”
She slips the phone into her bag and walks away. As soon as she’s out of sight, I thrust the certificate into Honey’s hands.
She squints at the document. “What am I looking at?”
As I explain the situation to her in a choked voice, her hands turn into fists.
“Want me to cut her?” she asks when I’m done. “Or him?”
Shaking my head, I shuffle like a zombie in the direction of my table. Honey says something soothing, but I can’t make it out. I’m too much in my head, replaying all the good things that have happened between Art and me, but seeing them through this new, corrupted filter.
Lies, all lies. Vile lies.
When I arrive at the table, I jab my finger into Art’s shoulder.
He looks up, and his brow wrinkles. “What’s the matter?”
Still channeling a zombie, I extend my right hand and point at Black Swan.
He follows my gaze, and his eyebrows snap together. “Did Alisa say something?”
