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The screen rewound to the beginning of the clip with Tarryn. She was with someone, but they were far away, so it was difficult to tell who it was. Maybe one of her costars? Whoever it was made her look small by comparison. It was adorable.
Wait…
Were they holding hands?
Swallowing, I got closer to the screen.
Kim turned up the volume.
One of the two women spun in her chair and looked directly into the camera, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “Tarryn Davenport—spotted coming out of a clinic in Prague not far from the main filming location ofRose Red.”
Her co-anchor made a phony shocked face. “I don’t know about you Sara, but I’m pretty sure that isn’t her delicious businessman husband.”
“Nooo, Jill, it is not.”
The two of them gave each other knowing looks.
The camera zoomed in on a paused Tarryn and her companion, making the picture quality grainy, but I’d be able to pick that physique out of any lineup.
Leduc. Of course, it was fucking Leduc.
The first woman looked down at her notes and her brows rose. “The man who took the video says that’s a fertility clinic. Yikes. Is squeaky clean Tarryn Davenport cheating on her husband with some new guy, and trying to have his baby?” She penned circles on the page in front of her. “If so, Mr. Davenport better schedule a paternity test. And what would the leading lady’s pregnancy mean forRose Red?”
The other woman whistled in fake shock.
Shows like this reminded me of the lunch room in high school. Some people never grew out of their pettiness.
The segment about Tarryn ended.
I had the urge to do something immature, like punch the TV screen.
My chest tightened as I stared, unseeing at the TV, as though it might answer my questions. Loïc had gone to a fertility clinic with my wife? What the fuck was going on?
I pulled my phone from my pocket and glanced down at it. No messages.
An ugly, twisting jealousy ate at my stomach.
Tarryn had wanted a baby for years.
I’d kept putting her off. We’d tried for a year, but nothing had happened.
There was no way she’d go behind my back. She wouldn’t ask Loïc to father a baby without discussing it with me first.
I’d meant to thank Kim, but once I’d entered my office and closed my door, I wasn’t sure if I’d said anything at all. I was shaking hard enough that I brought my other hand up to my phone to help me hold it steady as I dialed Tarryn.
The call went straight to voicemail, and I did the mental gymnastics to figure out what time it was there. Six PM here meant…three AM, her time. I stubbed the top edge of my phone against my forehead, biting my lips together, wishing I had someone else to call there to check up on her. Why didn’t I have Loïc’s number? I’d given the asshole permission to fuck my wife, and I still didn’t have his number?
So, I could what? Interrogate him every time they went somewhere together?
I growled, went to my desk, and sat carefully in my chair, ready to pop back up if my phone rang, as though I’d have to be standing to answer a call.
Was I angry or just frantic?
I wanted to drive like an idiot all the way to the airport and bribe my way onto the next flight that would get me to her. What would be the point of that, though? I had an important meeting tomorrow that I shouldn’t postpone, and she was working in the morning. If I waited another hour or two, she would be awake. I could talk to her then and sort this out. There had to be a logical explanation.
God, how many people would see that entertainment news clip? Sure, it was a gossip column show, but gossip traveled faster than the truth on any given day.
This must be what it felt like to be cuckolded…but how could I be feeling this way when I was the one who had set this situation in motion? Stupidly, it hadn’t occurred to me that anyone would find out, outside of our little fuck triangle.
