Wasted Love with You (Wasted Love 1)

“Depends. How long have you been cheating on me, Nate?”

Silence.

He picks up a scallop and smothers it in butter. Keeping his eyes on mine, he devours it whole.

As he picks up another, I notice that he’s wearing his wedding ring on his middle finger.

“Nate,” I say, raising my voice, “I asked you a question.”

“I heard it loud and clear. Can you pass the salt, please?”

I don’t move, and he tilts his head to the side.

“Autumn, the salt.”

“Nate, the cheating.”

He leans across the table and grabs the shaker. Then he lets out a long sigh. “When’s the last time you worried about paying a bill, Autumn?”

“What does that have to do with your cheating?”

“I’ll tell you in a minute,” he says. “Answer my question first.”

“I can’t remember.”

“Interesting. When’s the last time you had to worry about balancing a checkbook or wondering if you can afford to buy something with one of my credit cards?”

“Nate—”

“Wrong word,” he says. “The correct one is never, and that’s because I take care of everything. I’ve always taken care of everything for you.”

I narrow my eyes at him.

“You live in one of the most exclusive neighborhoods in the country and you drive a BMW without ever having to worry about filling up the gas tank, getting an oil change, or keeping the interior clean.”

“How long have you been seeing her?” I refuse to let him steer this conversation onto an irrelevant track.

“Nothing in your closet is less than designer-quality.” He steers it further anyway. “Nothing in this home is less than custom-made.”

“So, you take your minor-aged girlfriend on shopping sprees whenever she gets upset with you, too? Do you ever get déjà vu?”

Glaring at me, Nate slowly sets down his fork.

The room is suddenly ten times smaller and a chill runs up my spine.

He stands up and walks over to my side of the table—cupping my face in his hands.

My flesh crawls.

“Autumn, Autumn, Autumn,” he says, his voice flat. “Let’s get a few things clear about me and you… You have a high school diploma and you work part-time at a goddamn crafts store twice a week.”

“I work as a highly sought-after luthier.”

“You repair fucking instruments,” he says. “No matter what fancy term you choose to wrap it with, that’s your only contribution to society.”

“So, is fucking other women yours?”

“My contributions are what got us this house and this lifestyle, they’re what—” He pauses, finally looking at the living room and taking in the carnage of our memories. “Look. I’m not sure where these silly little allegations are suddenly coming from, but you need to drop them. Now.”

“I saw you, Nate.” I glare at him. “I saw you at Odette’s damn near screwing that girl on the dance floor. There’s no need to gaslight me by saying it wasn’t you. Just admit it.”

He doesn’t say a word.

His expression remains stoic.

“How old is she anyway?” I ask. “Seventeen? Eighteen?”

“Nineteen.” He runs his fingers through my hair at the admission, not looking guilty or ashamed in the slightest. “She just turned nineteen.”

“Did you ever tell her that you were married?” I’m well aware of the answer, but I need to hear him say it. “Did she ever know that you were still sleeping with me?”

“I’ve always been safe with her,” he says, as if that’s the issue. “You have nothing to worry about.”

“Neither do you. I want a divorce.”

“Excuse me?”

“No, excuse me.” I knock away his hand. “It’s been a long time coming, Nate, but I’m filing for a divorce. Tomorrow.”

“With what money, Autumn?” He looks highly amused. “Any half-decent lawyer in this town will laugh you out of the parking lot once you question their retainer fees. You know, thinking that things in life are this easy is probably why you couldn’t make it in college.”

I resist the urge to jump out of my seat and claw out his eyeballs.

“The truth is, with your value and lack of earning potential, I’m the best guy you’ll ever have, the best you’ll ever get.” He has the audacity to smile. “And if I were you, I would enjoy your cushy life as a high-ranking executive’s wife and show your husband a bit more appreciation. You can start by staying in your lane and not asking any more questions.”

“I need to go for a drive.” I stand to my feet.

“I’ll take you wherever you want to go after we finish eating.” The look in his eyes sends another chill through my body. “I don’t think it’s safe for you to drive for a while. The brakes on my BMW that I bought for you sounded squeaky the other day.”

“No, they didn’t.”

“They did,” he says. “Ricky is currently on his way to take it the dealership so they can look at it for us.”

For you.

As if on cue, the sound of the garage door opening cuts between us.