At the Stroke of Midnight (Naughty Princess Club 1)

Get in line.

“Ohhhhh, I get it. You’re in denial, aren’t you? Can we just go ahead and skip to the rage part? I’d really like to help you set fire to his clothes out on the front lawn or something equally therapeutic,” Ariel says.

“Did you know it’s estimated that roughly sixty percent of married individuals will engage in infidelity?” Isabelle says, giving me a sheepish look as she shrugs her shoulders. “Sorry. I read a lot. I tend to spout a bunch of useless facts when I’m nervous.

“I am not in denial, and we’re not burning anything on the front lawn,” I tell Ariel, ignoring Isabelle.

“Babe, it’s fine. Everyone knows.”

I smack Ariel’s hand away when she reaches out to try and pat me on the shoulder.

“No one knows anything, you have no idea what you’re talking about, and don’t call me babe.”

Ariel sighs, pushing herself up from the floor and holding her hand out to Isabelle to help her up.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, but I’m telling you, everyone knows. Walking around pretending like it’s not true and telling people he’s away on business is just stupid. You look stupid. Own it. Hold your head up high. He’s the one who fucked up, not you. You have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. Well, aside from that pile of monstrosities you call cupcakes in the kitchen,” Ariel says with a shake of her head as she moves toward the doorway, Isabelle right on her heels.

“I don’t need advice. Especially from you.”

Ariel pauses, slowly turning around to face me. The sarcastic smirk and joking sparkle in her eyes from moments ago has been replaced with clenched teeth and the cold, hard eyes of anger.

“Of course you don’t. Because your life is so perfect, right? So what if your husband cheated on you. Guys cheat. You aren’t the first woman to get fucked over by a man, and you certainly won’t be the last. Suck it up and quit feeling sorry for yourself. You don’t know anything about real problems, sitting up here in your big fancy house, looking down on people and judging them.”

I don’t move as I watch them disappear around the corner and into the foyer, Isabelle giving me a small smile and wave as she goes. I hear the front door open and close and I drop my head into my hands, swallowing back my tears.

She’s lying. She has to be lying.

But what if she’s not? What if everyone really does know the truth? They’ll know my life isn’t as perfect as I’ve led everyone to believe. They’ll know Brian not only stole from his parents, but that he took every last cent we’d saved during our marriage, leaving me with absolutely nothing, aside from a small handful of credit cards that are dangerously close to being maxed out after six months of using them to pay bills and put food on the table. Who the heck is she to tell me I don’t know anything about real problems?

I spent the last thirteen years as a wife and a mother, catering to the people I love, doing everything for everyone else without giving a second thought to myself. I have no job, I have no money, and I have no marketable skills aside from organizing PTA bake sales and Halloween street parties.

Getting up from the floor, I smooth my hands down the front of my pale-blue tea dress before retying the apron around my waist, marching into the kitchen with determination.

I’m going to frost the cupcakes that are not monstrosities, organize all of the Halloween decorations, call the neighbors and make sure they remember what food items they agreed to bring when we had our neighborhood meeting last month, and I am going to ignore everything Ariel said. I’m not in denial. I’m doing what I can to hold my life and my daughter’s life together, and that means business as usual. I don’t need some crazy woman who says she slept with my husband giving me bad advice. I am not going to light anything on fire, like a low-class citizen. One hour in Ariel’s presence and I almost let her bad influence rub off on me. It’s bad enough I let some of her promiscuous ways rub off on me by giving more than a second thought to the handsome stranger from the street who carried me in his arms and held me close to that muscular chest of his.

For the love of God, Cynthia, a lady definitely shouldn’t be having these kinds of thoughts about a strange man who isn’t her husband!

I remember when I was only a few weeks pregnant with Anastasia, I got lightheaded and passed out in the kitchen while making dinner for Brian. When I came to, he was leaning against the counter with his phone to his ear on a business call. He didn’t even help me up from the floor. When I got back to my feet and began checking myself for any bruises or other injuries, he finally hung up the phone and said distractedly, “Sorry, that was a really important call. You seem to be okay now. What time will dinner be ready?”