and tabloid headlines, but better to be a punch line than the miserable wife of a man who preferred to be with other women.
I wanted to scream. Hurl something through the window. Run.
So many people had compared Austin’s charisma and charm to John F. Kennedy’s. Is this what Jackie felt like the first time she found out about her husband’s affairs? Angry and ashamed.
Perhaps she felt trapped in their marriage, but I wasn’t trapped. There was still time for me to walk away.
My heart heavy, I wiped away my tears and stepped back into the lobby. My father and Marissa had both warned me that Austin might be hiding something, but I’d ignored the waving of their red flags.
The elevator delivered me to the eighteenth floor, to a long hall lit with golden wall sconces and masked with mirrors. All it needed was smoke to complete the illusion.
My stomach rolled when I heard a woman laugh in the Edwardian Fifth Avenue Suite, like Megan laughing in the Vales’ home. In front of the suite was an alcove with a stiff leather bench, and I sat, wishing I could break down the door.
Instead I pulled out my phone, looked at the text I’d almost sent on the sidewalk. The one asking Austin to turn around.
If I’d sent it, he might have turned and slammed the car door before I saw the woman with him. Years or even decades might have passed before I learned the truth.
My stomach curled at the thought.
Austin’s mother might have tolerated her husband’s infidelities. Countless politicians’ wives before me might have looked the other way. But I could not.
Slowly I began to delete each letter in my original text. Then, taking a deep breath, I began to type again.
I made it to NYC, I wrote. You here?
This time I heard his laugh blending with hers. Were they mocking me? I wiped away the last of my tears.
A few minutes later, he texted back.
Crazy storm, huh? I’m here. In meetings already.
So this is what he referred to as a meeting? Bitter, I joined in their laughter.
My phone flashed again with another text.
I miss you.
His audacity infuriated me.
Right . . . I typed. Casual bait to catch my fish. Whatcha meeting about?
He texted right back. Budgets. Boring stuff . . .
Doesn’t sound a bit boring to me.
His reply came at lightning speed. U ok???
I stared at the phone for a moment, and the aching in my heart almost drowned out the anger. There was still time to run away. Pretend that everything was fine.
Yet I couldn’t do it. Perhaps the meeting really was providential.
I leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes.
Laughter no longer bled through the door in front of me, and I wondered what might be going through Austin’s head. Usually he knew the game plan of each player around him before he calculated his next move. Perhaps it was good to make him a little nervous.
Slowly I began to type again, anger fueling me. I’m just great. When were you planning to tell me?
Sorry, he wrote . I didn’t think budgets interested you . . .
They do now.
What do you want to know?
This time I didn’t hesitate as I typed. I want to know the name of your girlfriend.
I leaned back, relief filling me as the words vanished on my screen. The truth was the only thing that would free both of us.
Where are you?!?
I took a deep breath before I texted him back. Sitting outside your door.
Seconds later, Austin Vale stood before me in the doorway, dressed in a white robe, the Plaza insignia embroidered on his chest.
“What are you doing—” he demanded, stumbling over his words. I’d never seen Austin flustered before.
“I was going to surprise you.” I tucked my phone back into my purse. “Apparently I succeeded.”
His mouth gaped open. I’d never seen Austin at a loss for words either.
Standing, I eyed his attire. “Do you always conduct budget meetings in a bathrobe?”
He glanced down at the robe as if he’d forgotten it was on, and then he raked his fingers through his dark hair. What
I wanted to scream. Hurl something through the window. Run.
So many people had compared Austin’s charisma and charm to John F. Kennedy’s. Is this what Jackie felt like the first time she found out about her husband’s affairs? Angry and ashamed.
Perhaps she felt trapped in their marriage, but I wasn’t trapped. There was still time for me to walk away.
My heart heavy, I wiped away my tears and stepped back into the lobby. My father and Marissa had both warned me that Austin might be hiding something, but I’d ignored the waving of their red flags.
The elevator delivered me to the eighteenth floor, to a long hall lit with golden wall sconces and masked with mirrors. All it needed was smoke to complete the illusion.
My stomach rolled when I heard a woman laugh in the Edwardian Fifth Avenue Suite, like Megan laughing in the Vales’ home. In front of the suite was an alcove with a stiff leather bench, and I sat, wishing I could break down the door.
Instead I pulled out my phone, looked at the text I’d almost sent on the sidewalk. The one asking Austin to turn around.
If I’d sent it, he might have turned and slammed the car door before I saw the woman with him. Years or even decades might have passed before I learned the truth.
My stomach curled at the thought.
Austin’s mother might have tolerated her husband’s infidelities. Countless politicians’ wives before me might have looked the other way. But I could not.
Slowly I began to delete each letter in my original text. Then, taking a deep breath, I began to type again.
I made it to NYC, I wrote. You here?
This time I heard his laugh blending with hers. Were they mocking me? I wiped away the last of my tears.
A few minutes later, he texted back.
Crazy storm, huh? I’m here. In meetings already.
So this is what he referred to as a meeting? Bitter, I joined in their laughter.
My phone flashed again with another text.
I miss you.
His audacity infuriated me.
Right . . . I typed. Casual bait to catch my fish. Whatcha meeting about?
He texted right back. Budgets. Boring stuff . . .
Doesn’t sound a bit boring to me.
His reply came at lightning speed. U ok???
I stared at the phone for a moment, and the aching in my heart almost drowned out the anger. There was still time to run away. Pretend that everything was fine.
Yet I couldn’t do it. Perhaps the meeting really was providential.
I leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes.
Laughter no longer bled through the door in front of me, and I wondered what might be going through Austin’s head. Usually he knew the game plan of each player around him before he calculated his next move. Perhaps it was good to make him a little nervous.
Slowly I began to type again, anger fueling me. I’m just great. When were you planning to tell me?
Sorry, he wrote . I didn’t think budgets interested you . . .
They do now.
What do you want to know?
This time I didn’t hesitate as I typed. I want to know the name of your girlfriend.
I leaned back, relief filling me as the words vanished on my screen. The truth was the only thing that would free both of us.
Where are you?!?
I took a deep breath before I texted him back. Sitting outside your door.
Seconds later, Austin Vale stood before me in the doorway, dressed in a white robe, the Plaza insignia embroidered on his chest.
“What are you doing—” he demanded, stumbling over his words. I’d never seen Austin flustered before.
“I was going to surprise you.” I tucked my phone back into my purse. “Apparently I succeeded.”
His mouth gaped open. I’d never seen Austin at a loss for words either.
Standing, I eyed his attire. “Do you always conduct budget meetings in a bathrobe?”
He glanced down at the robe as if he’d forgotten it was on, and then he raked his fingers through his dark hair. What
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