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My dress is simple, navy with a tunic-styled skirt which reaches my knees. I chose to keep my heels not too high, especially if I needed to chase Bentley around. As for my hair, Rosemarie can bite me. I leave it out, knowing I’ll pay for my disobedience later.
Guests arrive, carrying nothing more than envelopes that are no doubt filled with cash. I perform my duties, smiling and greeting all the guests, trying to remember everyone’s names.
Benedict keeps his distance, his behavior odd, but I don’t think twice about it. Since our conversation regarding Andy last week, we’ve barely spoken two words to each other, even when he slept in our bed last night.
The lunch continues just like all of Rosemarie’s functions. People converse, mingle, and eat the meals served. There’s wine, plus champagne, and nothing at all fun or edible for Bentley to eat.
After lunch, Rosemarie corners me to inform it’s time to cut the cake and find Benedict since she’s having no luck. I leave Bentley with Eliza, searching the marquee, then outside. Back inside the house, I check his office but still no Benedict.
Upon my walk to our room, my phone vibrates in my hand.
Andy:Please give Bentley the biggest of hugs and wish him a happy birthday from me. I miss the little guy.
My fingers type profusely, without a care in the world as to what’s right or wrong anymore.
Me:We both miss you.
I take a deep breath, knowing we have to get this cake over and done with because Bentley needs a nap. As I enter the room, my eyes gravitate toward Benedict, sitting in the armchair beside the window with my journal in his hand.
“Wha… what are you doing?”
“What do you think I’m doing?” he questions in an arctic tone, deliberately raising his eyebrows with tension in his jaw. “You want to explain this?”
I’m overwhelmed by panic but at the same time anger. This journal is private, and my thoughts are yet to be edited to form a piece I want to share with the world.
“I’ve been writing again.”
“You’ve been writing again,” he repeats, raising his voice. “And this story of yours?”
“Is just a fictional story,” I answer calmly.
Benedict opens the page, his eyes falling to the words. His sudden sinister laugh is disturbing until he opens his mouth.“And no man has ever made me feel this way, a complete woman, in just a simple touch.”
“Benedict, how dare—”
“But our bond was founded well before this intimate moment. It started when we were kids, raised in a world of the unknown, yet to experience the true love of another human being besides our family.”
I lower my head, clutching onto my stomach. “What do you want me to say?”
“Admit the goddamn truth!” he roars, running his hands through his hair like a crazed maniac. “You think I’m some idiot? Like I don’t know my wife is being fucked by another man who’s supposedly her family.”
“It’s not like that,” I breathe, willing my chest to calm down. “You don’t understand.”
It’s the moment of truth, the weight of this secret too hard to live anymore. It’s come down to this, and because I couldn’t find the courage to bring this up earlier, I’ve hurt Benedict even more.
“I understand we need to be downstairs.” He throws the journal on the bed to storm out of the room, but I call his name for him to still his movements with his back facing me.
“Our marriage was over before Andy walked back into my life,” I whisper.
Benedict slowly turns around with a corded neck and his pupils flared. It comes as no surprise he is angry, but I know him well enough to assume it’s his pride hurt more than losing his wife.
“Don’t for one second think you’re going to walk away from our marriage,” he snarls.
The battle to end our marriage is just beginning. Benedict would easily continue our loveless marriage and fuck me whenever convenient for him.
But I can no longer live like this.
“You can’t force me to stay,” I argue back.
