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He dropped his stuff and surveyed the rest of the house. She’d said she’d gotten an apartment, so it shouldn’t have surprised him to find things missing. But when he reached the owner’s suite and noticed the bare mattress in the four-poster bed frame, the missing chairs, and the empty space at the foot of the bed where a bench used to sit, it hit him.
Sydney moved out.
Sydney had moved out.
A yellow envelope on the nightstand called ominously to him, and he walked over, the muscle in his jaw twitching. He reached inside, pulled out the first sheet of paper, and read the first few lines before shoving it back inside.
Petition for Dissolution of Marriage
“Oh, no.” He shook his head, tossed the envelope onto the bed, and headed downstairs. “Hell fuck no, Syd. You don’t get to do this.”
He grabbed his keys and burst through the garage door, ready to toss Sydney over his shoulder and drag her back home, if necessary.
* * *
She came to the door wearing a robe, her hair in a half ponytail with strands framing her face, doing her best to look as if she’d just woken up—like he wasn’t married to her. Like they hadn’t spent nearly twenty years of their lives together.
“Don’t act like you weren’t up, Syd.”
He stepped inside and looked around. For the last seventy-two hours, he’d felt like he had no idea who he’d married, but this place was Sydney Donovan all the way. The apartment showcased its high-end wood floors and upscale appliances like successful children.
“How many bedrooms does this place have?” he asked.
She shut the door and leaned against it. “Three.”
“Three bedrooms with this view off Connecticut Avenue?” He did a quick calculation in his head. “Mrs. Lattimore, this place is probably around ten grand a month.”
“Joel, you didn’t call first.”
“Call before I come? Why? You were expecting company?”
“No.”
He gestured to the living room’s white modular chaise sectional. “Can I sit, or do you want me to stand? That way, I won’t get too cozy. Gotta make sure I leave at some point, right?”
She raised both hands. “I deserved that. You can sit. We do need to talk.”
He took a seat.
Then he stood.
“I can’t sit.”
“Because you’re agitated.” She walked to the kitchen, and he lost himself in the smooth curves of her body, visible even in her robe, until common sense kicked him in the brainstem.
“Are you hungry?” she asked. “I made dinner. I kind of figured you’d show up here tonight, especially since I told Ari you could come.”
“I’m not hungry, and you’re stalling,” he pointed out. “Sit down, Syd. Weneedto talk.”
She wrung her hands, nodded, and walked over. Neither of them lowered onto a cushion.
While he knew he was supposed to be pissed at her, this close, he could smell her body wash and feel the heat from her body. His groin constricted, and he nearly cursed it out loud. Now was not the time. It didn’t matter how good she smelled, how cute she looked, or the fact that he knew what he would find underneath if he tugged on the robe’s strap—his wife. His beautiful, conniving wife.
“I already told you how to fix this,” she said.
He stretched his arms wide. “Fix? Sydney, you moved out. You never told me there was a problem. You never—”
“You see?” She pointed at him. “I don’t like when you do that. Ihavetold you there’s a problem, but Joel, you only hear what you want to hear.”
