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When I walk in, there’s a woman there retouching her makeup.
Her blue eyes capture mine in the reflection of the glass.
Svena.
For a split-second, I contemplate running out of the room.
She’s so… intense.
And she wasn’t afraid to act like she was intimately acquainted with Hansley in front of me before. If that’s only going to get worse, I don’t want to be here.
But I don’t walk away.
I don’t run.
As much as my instincts are screaming for me to get out, I walk to the basin.
Turn on the faucet.
Wash my hands.
“You’re not his usual type,” Svena says.
“Excuse me?” I turn to her.
That crisp voice carries a note of curiosity in it. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. It’s just…” Another head-to-toe sweep. “I wonder what it was about you that moved him.”
It’s strange. These words sound like a diss, but in that cautious, confused tone of hers, she manages to convey genuine bewilderment.
This isn’t the high school bully confronting me in a bathroom.
This is one grown woman approaching another, wondering what she lacked and the other had. It’s like Svena thinks I won some ‘prize’ by marrying Hansley.
She’s over there comparing herself to me. And I’m here comparing myself to her, wondering if I measured up to Hansley’s past conquests.
In that moment, we both realize our own stupidity and break into warm smiles.
She tilts her head, her eyes wide and warm. “Did he tell you yet?”
“Tell me what?”
She stares at me for a long, long moment. “Nothing. Have a good night, Mrs. Nicholas.”
I watch her walk out and something in my chest shrivels to nothing.
Did he tell you yet?
What was Svena talking about?
What the hell is Hansley hiding from me?
Thirty
Hansley
I, honestly, have no idea what anyone is saying around this table. None.
I hate letting my personal life mess with my professional life. And I’m trying my best to focus. I really am.
