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He smiles. “Do you have children?”
“Two. A boy and a girl.”
“Even more reason to keep your mouth shut. If I were in your position, I’d fight for what I have.”
Oh, I’ll fight for what I have. Don’t worry about that.
“Thank you. That’s very wise.” I raise my beer and we clink.
We’re leaning back, saying deep things about life, our hands cupped on the edge of the table behind us. I feel his little finger inch closer to mine and it sends a strange shiver down my spine. He doesn’t move his hand away, and neither do I.
“And when you do find out who it is,” he says, “you could boil her in a cauldron full of bats. That’s what we do where I come from.”
I snap my head around. “Where do you come from?” He does have the most beautiful eyes, green with specks of gold, and they’re nicely offset by his dark hair.
“Ireland. I’ve never lived there, I was born here, but my grandmother tells me these stories. I should have done it to my ex.”
My mind is too frazzled to compute that and I stare at him, vaguely wondering where I could get bats.
He bursts out laughing. “I was joking.” Then he adds, “We don’t use bats. We’re not savages.”
I chuckle, and my gaze falls to his chest. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone and I get a glimpse of black, coarse hair. I wonder what it would feel like, to touch someone other than Luis. Then I wonder if he thinks about me when he touches his floozy, and whether she has nice breasts. I bet she does. I bet they’re perky and pert. Like mine used to be before I had his kids.
The Irishman reaches behind him and lifts a bottle of Prosecco. “Come with me.” I do as I’m told and when we reach the corridor he takes my hand and leads me around a corner and into an empty office. I reach blindly for the light switch that I assume is near the door but he cups my hand and whispers, “No, don’t.”
My skin feels tingly and I shudder. His tongue is on my lips, slow and soft like velvet. I’m about to argue, apologize if I gave the wrong impression, but then I think of Luis and I part my lips slightly. He undoes the buttons of my shirt and slips his hands behind my back, unhooks the clasp of my bra.
“Take it off,” he whispers.
I’m shaking. I slip my arms out of my sleeves and let my shirt and bra fall to the floor. He has pulled his own shirt off and we stand against each other, my breasts against his chest, then we are on the floor and his mouth is on mine and his hand slides under the belt of my skirt.
“Wait!”
“You okay?” he asks.
“Give me a moment.” I fling my arm over my eyes and feel him pull away.
What on earth am I doing? My head is spinning and a flash of light bursts behind my eyelids. What’s that sound? A digital shutter.Photo?
I open my eyes quickly and sit up. In the dim light I see him smiling at me, his phone in his hand. I spring upright and reach for it, panic making my voice shrill. “Did you just take a photo of me?” But before he answers there’s a movement behind the door, and a shadow interrupts the sliver of light beneath it. I put one finger on my lips to indicate we should be quiet. I hold my breath, then I’m sure I see the doorknob turn slowly, even though it’s dark.
I scramble for my shirt and bra. Irishman is giggling. “Shut up!” I hiss. I throw his shirt at him. “Get dressed.” My heart is thumping in my ears. I will whoever it is to go away as I manage to hook my bra back on and put my shirt back on. There’s silence on the other side and I picture someone listening, one hand cupped around their ear against the door.
Finally the shadow moves away and I bow my head in relief as I get my breath back.
“Let’s get out of here,” I whisper, suddenly furious with this man for having put me in this position. I open the door an inch, check that the coast is clear.
He puts his hand on my arm. “Wait.”
I shrug him off. “I have to go.” I march down the hall, back to the party. A few stragglers are convened in the corner near the cheese board. Geoff is nowhere to be seen. I snatch my bag that is still hanging off the back of a chair and leave quickly, almost running to the car park.
Only then do I remember the photograph he took. I’d meant to get him to delete it immediately, but in that moment of almost getting caught out, I forgot. I start the car, and I see him as I drive out. He is standing on the sidewalk, his arms out wide in disbelief. I want to stop, to get him to delete the photo, but the traffic is moving and it’s too late.
I bite my lip so hard it bleeds as my stomach clenches into tight knots the whole way home. When I get back I turn off the ignition and sit in the dark with my forehead against the steering wheel. I can’t believe what I did back there. What was I thinking? That being unfaithful was going to help me get my husband back? I don’t give a shit about the promotion. Not when my marriage is at stake. My family is the most important thing to me and to think I would risk it so foolishly makes me hit my head with a closed fist—like that’s going to put some sense back into me.
I lean back against the seat. It’s okay. It’s not the end of the world. He seemed like a nice enough guy. Tomorrow, I will go and see him and ask him to delete the photo. Then I will concentrate my energy on my family. Maybe if I can figure out who Luis is having an affair with, I can warn her off. It’s just a fling, surely. Luis loves me, I know he does. And he is the most devoted father, and the most devoted husband.
Isn’t he?
