Slip of the Tongue (Slip of the Tongue 1)

“Right about what?” he asks.

“You’re having an affair—”

“Oh, no!” Gisele gasps as her chin wobbles. “No, no, no. Sadie, you have it all wrong. I swear.”

Nathan’s mouth is as wide open as his brown eyes. He doesn’t even blink.

“You must think I’m an idiot,” I say, not bothering to hide the anger in my voice. “That I had no clue what was going on. Well, I’ve been onto you for weeks, Nate. At first, I thought it was Joan—”

Nathan takes my arm roughly. I go immediately silent, surprised by his grip. “Excuse us, Gisele,” he says. “And I have to apologize for my wife. I am so sorry about this.” He pulls me out of the line, over to a corner that’s marginally more private, and loosens his hand but continues to hold me. “What is the matter with you?” he asks. “Joan?”

“I thought she was the one,” I say, shaking my head. “Maybe she is. Is she? Is there more than one woman?”

He barks out a short, surprised laugh. “You need to calm down. You’re making a scene for no reason.”

“No reason?” I try to wiggle loose, but he won’t let me. Gisele rushes by us in a flurry of black ringlets, her head down. “This explains so much about the past few months,” I say loudly enough for her to hear. “Why even put me through this? Why not just cut me loose?”

Nathan’s eyes go round, and he turns sheet-white—as, likely, do I, because blood drains from my face. This is it. I can see his realization that he’s been caught. This is really happening. “Wait,” he says. “You seriously think I’m having an affair? Like seriously?”

“How many?” I ask quietly.

“How many . . .?” He closes his mouth and swallows hard. “There’s only you, Sadie. How could you possibly think I would . . . that I could even touch another . . .?”

I close my eyes. Even if he deserves it, I don’t like the pain in his face. “I know about the lipstick on your tie.”

He releases me, and I look at him again. “What lipstick?” he asks, pinching his eyebrows together.

“After bowling practice a couple weeks ago.” I can’t help picturing the deep red smear, and it spurs me forward. “I was going through the laundry, and I saw it.”

“Saw what? Lipstick? On my tie?”

I’m growing tired of this back-and-forth, of feeling like I have to watch where I step and plan my maneuvers. Finn was right. Nathan is playing games, and it has to end here. If he doesn’t stop, he’ll push me right into Finn’s arms. “This isn’t a game, Nate,” I say, steadying my voice. “I don’t deserve this.”

“Game? You think all this has been a game?”

“Whose lipstick was it?”

He slow-blinks. “I don’t know—it was probably ketchup. I eat a lot of fries when we play. Nine times out of ten, I spill on myself.”

“Ketchup,” I repeat without inflection. Red and sticky, it’s a handy excuse, but I’m not buying it. “What about the other night when you came back from the hospital smelling like a bar?”

He scoffs. His unfamiliar disdain makes me feel even further from him. “You’re accusing me of lying about visiting my sick dad?”

When he says it out loud, it sounds so unlike something Nathan would do, I have to pause. I put the brakes on my rage and think. Nathan would never lie where his dad’s health is concerned, and I should know that. But it can’t all boil down to something as stupid as ketchup. “Well, I’m right,” I say, lowering my voice, “aren’t I?”

Nathan gets very still and quiet. There’s depth in his eyes I haven’t seen since he broke the news to me his dad was dying. With just a glance, he has the power to inspire a wave of doubt in me. My legs, and my resolution, waver. “Aren’t I?” I repeat.

“You mean to tell me,” he says softly, “for the last few weeks, you thought I was having an affair—and you said and did nothing? You waited, hoping to catch me in a lie?”

I open my mouth and pause. “Well, no,” I say. Unlike my palms, which have begun to feel sticky, my throat dries up. “I didn’t have actual proof or anything. And I didn’t ‘do nothing.’ I tried talking to you so many times—”

He shakes his head hard. “Not about this you didn’t. I wouldn’t have ignored an accusation this serious.”

“How was I supposed to know you’d listen?” I ask. “Every time I’ve tried, you shut down.”

“It shouldn’t even be a question,” he says cuttingly. “You should know I would never do that. Ever.”

I take a breath and step back. The truth is, if I’d really believed Nathan had betrayed me, I would’ve said something sooner. I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself from finding out the truth, because until recently, we’ve always had honesty. “I hoped I was wrong—”

“You are wrong.” I feel people’s eyes on us, but I can’t look away from him. “Jesus Christ, Sadie,” he says, running a hand through his hair and messing it up. “I had no idea our marriage was this weak. So this is where we end up when things get tough?”

“Things haven’t just gotten tough—you disappeared on me,” I shoot back, but my resolve falters. Nathan’s no actor. I can tell by his reaction that I’m wrong. Dead wrong. By a thousand miles, ketchup makes more sense to me than Joan. We’ve been together in Gisele’s presence more times than I can count, and never once did I suspect anything. Because it wasn’t there. “It’s been two-and-a-half months of this. Is it so unreasonable I would jump to this conclusion?”

He frowns. “To me, it is. After seven years, I’d hope you know my character better. What have I not given you during this marriage?” he asks. “I live where you want. I do what you say. It’s exhausting, but I do it because I love you more than myself. I’m not saying things haven’t been difficult these past few months, but that love doesn’t just go away. My character doesn’t change.”

I look up at him and try to see myself through his eyes. He’s always bent over backward for me, and maybe I don’t always thank him or return the favor as I should, but I thought it made him happy to treat me that way. I thought I made him happy. But if I was self-centered over the years, it was because Nathan’s world revolved around me like I was the sun. I didn’t ask for that. “I’ve never made you do anything against your will. I’ve always told you, if you’re unhappy—”

“I’m free to go,” he finishes wryly. “Right? I just need to say the word?”

His words resonate with a physical pang in my chest. He thinks I don’t care enough to fight for us. And based on my short history with Finn, maybe Nathan’s right.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I have to get back to the office.”

“What about lunch?”

He gives me a look that conveys his lack of appetite and turns away. “I’ll see you at home.”

Amelia comes to my side. “Sadie. What the hell was that?”

I stick my hands under my armpits to stop their trembling, but instead, it spreads to my shoulders, my torso, my legs. I’ve made a serious and wrong accusation about something I’m guilty of. I hope Nathan understands I was driven to this conclusion by the depth of hurt his distance has caused.

Amelia squeezes my bicep. “That was brutal, but right now, you need to get it together or excuse yourself.”

My vision clears. Misty Burroughs is standing at our table with her arms crossed, and her lips thinned into a line.

I swallow down the last few minutes and walk directly to Misty, who’s an embarrassingly short distance from me. “Miss Burroughs. I am so, so . . . sorry—and mortified.”

“What was that?” she asks.

I bite my bottom lip with a belated and unexpected wave of tears. That was my marriage bottoming out. I expect a complete reaming out from Amelia later, even though she stands quietly by my side now.

“It was personal business she should’ve taken somewhere else, right?” Amelia answers for me.

I inhale through my nose and nod, afraid I’ll cry if I try to speak. I’m a second from wiping my eye with my sleeve when Misty jumps to catch my wrist. “Honey, no man is worth mascara stains on Burberry.”

I pause. The three of us laugh stiffly and awkwardly, but it breaks the tension a little.

“So your husband’s cheating,” Misty says with a shrug. “Fuck him.”

Amelia smiles, relief clear on her face. “He blindsided her just now.”

My instinct is to defend Nathan, but I don’t. It won’t help the situation. “This is very unprofessional,” I say and apologize again. “I assure you, this is a first for me—and it shouldn’t reflect on the firm.”

Misty pulls out a chair and sits. “Look. I’m not married, but my sister’s husband did a number on her. When I call and tell her about this, because you bet your ass I will, she’ll cheer for the way you confronted him. So, why don’t you go compose yourself, and we’ll get on with this meeting.”

“Of course,” I say. “Thank you, Miss Burr—”

“Nope.” She stops me with a hand in the air. “It’s just Misty.”

“Thanks, Misty.” I excuse myself and find public bathrooms in the middle of the market. Of course, there’s a line. I skip it and go inside to check my mascara, which is really an excuse to stop and take some deep breaths. I can’t cry a single tear in this meeting. Misty seems patient, but she’s also a businesswoman. She won’t put up with this.