AllFreeNovel
Share Us
This is what you get for putting your trust in another human being, idiot.
In a fucking Rossi, no less.
I ignored Kristen’s message, knowing damn well that she was not at the school by chance. She wanted me to see those pictures. Wanted me to know that Francesca had an affair with Angelo.
Throughout our entire marriage, he’d been a third wheel. A thorn in my side.
Now, finally, Francesca made a proactive choice.
She kissed him in front of the world.
She. Chose. Him.
I had to hand it to my young, spitfire wife. She almost managed to crack me completely.
It was that sweet pussy and smart mouth. A lethal combination if I ever met one.
But this was the wake-up call that I’d needed.
I left the store I was standing in, making my way out of it and toward my car, on my way home. I’d given up my driver for my wife. I’d given up a lot for my wife.
Which reminded me—where on earth was fucking Smithy?
“Hey. Hi. Hey,” Smithy greeted when I called him as I got into my car.
My EPAs were at my side. Protocol dictated they couldn’t drive for me. Shame. I was about to hurl all of us off the Michigan Avenue Bridge.
“Where the fuck were you this afternoon?” I demanded.
By his way of answering, I knew he’d already seen the pictures on Twitter. Jesus Christ, who the hell hadn’t at this point?
“She said you were going to pick her up. That you didn’t fly out to Springfield today. And I didn’t see your car in the garage in the morning, so I figured it was true.”
It was.
I had two meetings downtown today. And, strangely, I was going to surprise Francesca at her school.
I ran late because my second appointment—the one in which I purchased a Yamaha C-7 Grand Piano for my unhappy wife—ran late.
It was supposed to be a surprise.
Of course, my lovely wife beat me to it this round.
My phone buzzed in my hand. For a second, I thought it’d be Francesca, calling to tell me that it wasn’t what it looked like. I glanced at the caller ID.
No.
It was just Preston Bishop, eager for some blood sport.
Damn it, Francesca.
I sent the call to voicemail, along with the dozen other calls from Bishop, White, and Arthur Rossi, who were all keen to offer their two pennies about the situation, no doubt.
I’d been humiliated beyond my worst nightmares after I’d sworn to never be put in this position again. Not after I got down on my knees to Rossi.
The only person who did not try and reach me—other than my cheating wife, of course—was Sterling, who wasn’t connected to social media and wasn’t privy to what her darling girl had done.
When I got home, I told Sterling to leave for the nearest hotel and gave her ten minutes to pack a bag while I called an Uber for her.
