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CHAPTER TWELVE
Chloe was sitting at the kitchen table, her laptop open in front of her, her husband’s handsome face smiling seductively up at her, when he walked into the room.
“Hi, babe,” he said, his voice soft and sweet. “You didn’t have to wait up.”
Chloe took note of the thick hair falling carelessly into Matt’s dark eyes and the hint of stubble framing his cheeks and chin, emphasizing the natural pout of his lips. She tried to imagine never kissing those lips again, never feeling those eyes staring lovingly into hers. Damn it. Did he have to look so good? And was there no depth to which he could sink that would make him less desirable to her? Was she really that shallow? “I thought you might be hungry,” she said, closing the computer. Was she ready to throw it all away? “I made meat loaf.” She motioned toward the plate of food sitting on the counter by the microwave.
“Ah, babe. I’m sorry. I grabbed a sandwich at the office. You should have told me you were making meat loaf.”
“My fault,” Chloe said, accepting the blame.
“Well, it’s nobody’s fault,” he corrected with a smile. “These things happen. I’m sorry. You’re the best.” He walked around the table to kiss the top of her head.
She caught a whiff of unfamiliar perfume. “What kind of sandwich?” she heard herself ask.
“What?”
“You said you grabbed a sandwich at the office. What kind?”
“Seriously?”
She twisted her head to look up at him. “Seriously.”
“Ham and cheese.” He laughed. “You want to know what kind of cheese? It was cheddar,” he said before she could respond.
“Did you close the deal?”
He looked confused by the sudden shift in the conversation. “Well, we submitted an offer. They have twenty-four hours to sign something back. Is everything okay?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I don’t know. You just seem kind of…I don’t know…off. Kids give you a hard time tonight?”
“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” she said, a virtual repeat of their earlier exchange.
His hands were suddenly on her shoulders, his fingers expertly working their way into the tense muscles at the base of her neck. He knew just where to touch her, exactly how much pressure to apply. Could she really give that up? Could she bear never to feel those hands on her body again?
She was being too hasty, she decided in that instant, judging him before all the facts were in. There had to be a logical explanation, something that would justify his behavior, a reason for his presence online that she hadn’t considered. Maybe someone was setting him up, perhaps a colleague at work, jealous of Matt’s good looks and ongoing success. That person could easily have joined all these dating sites in Matt’s name, hoping to discredit him. Just a few weeks ago, they’d had several of Matt’s coworkers over for a barbecue. One of them could have found that picture of Matt and submitted it, then figured out a way to return it without anyone being the wiser. It was possible.
It wasn’t possible.
No matter how she tried to spin it, no matter how convoluted and irrational her efforts became to exonerate her husband, she knew the truth. And the truth was that Matt was guilty. Of lying, of cheating, of everything. He’d been doing the same thing for years. The only uncertainty was what she was prepared to do about it.
“I’m going to bed,” Matt said, his hands sliding off her shoulders.
No. Don’t leave me,she thought, feeling his hands hovering just out of reach, like a phantom limb. She fought the urge to grab those hands, to pull them around her, to glue him to her side.
“You coming?” he asked, already in the doorway.
“Soon. I have to put a few things away.” She nodded toward the plate of food on the counter.
“Well, try not to be long. I’ve got to get some sleep. I’m exhausted.”
Chloe felt her own exhaustion wrapping around her like a blanket.You don’t have to do anything tonight,Paige had told her.You can sleep on it.Which was exactly what she needed to do, Chloe decided. She needed time to digest what had happened, to figure out a plan. She couldn’t go running off half-cocked. After all, she wasn’t the only one who would be affected by the decisions she made. She had two small children to consider, two children who loved their father, whose lives she couldn’t just turn upside down without serious deliberation. She owed those children a clear head. Whatever she was going to say could wait till morning.
Except it couldn’t.
“Wait,” she said.
