4
Sicily
The anger had my heart pounding for several hours afterward. I went home to my apartment, grabbed an open bottle of wine from the fridge, and didn’t even bother getting a glass from the cabinet. I’d had plenty of wine at the restaurant, but now I drank it like my throat was dry. “Motherfucker.” I wasn’t just angry with him—but myself.
How did I not know?
Why didn’t I question the fact that he spent half his week in Chicago? I’d never known a pilot before, so I wasn’t sure what a normal schedule was like. People said long-distance relationships never worked, but I didn’t qualify it as long-distance. But it was long-distance—and he had a whole other life I didn’t know about.
The fact that he had two boys made it so much worse. My dream was to be a mother, and knowing he took that for granted made me sick to my stomach. Even if his wife was a bitch, she was taking care of his kids while he jetted off and fucked some woman in the city.
My hand moved to my forehead. “God, I’m the other woman.”
I’d never felt so sick in my life, not even when I ate old cheese sauce from the bottom of the nacho machine at the movie theaters. I felt so much self-loathing, so much disappointment, and I realized I needed to get tested first thing on Monday.
My dream life had been taken away from me within the snap of a finger.
Just like that…gone.
When the anger faded the next day, all I was left with was heartbreak.
I was hurt.
I was hurt that an asshole could do that to someone, to both me and his wife, to lie to us both for months.
He honestly expected to leave his wife and be with me? What about his kids? What would they think when they were older? Didn’t he care about their opinion at all? Did he really have no integrity whatsoever?
My weekend was spent on the couch in my pajamas, ordering takeout and drinking wine out of a box because I ran out of the good stuff, but I had no motivation to go out and get more.
When Sunday night came around, I actually dreaded going to work the next day.
I’d made a fucking idiot out of myself telling Cleo I was going to be engaged and showing off a big rock on my hand. Now I had to tell her the guy I loved was an adulterous asshole—and I’d had no idea.
She would judge me. My coworkers would too.
It was not the best impression to make.
If I had bad judgment with that, what if she assumed I had bad judgment with everything?
Did I have bad judgment?
My alarm woke me up on Monday morning, and I put on the outfit I’d picked out on Friday afternoon when I realized I got the job, and I walked to the Trinity Building in Tribeca from my apartment.
It was a beautiful morning, but it was cold. That made me walk faster just to stay warm, and I kept my thick hood up to protect my hair from the moisture in the air. Otherwise, my curls would fall out.
When I arrived, I greeted the doorman and passed the tenants as they stepped out of the elevator and into their private cars waiting outside. There was a lot of activity, just like a hotel, people coming and going, except it wasn’t a hotel but a residence.
A woman sat behind the counter in the lobby, handing people their mail and making phone calls. There were two elevators, and both continued to open and close as more people filed out. Most of them were in suits. When the elevator door opened, Cleo stood beside a tall man with dark hair. He was one of the few men not in a suit, but jeans and a hoodie. They stepped out together, and his arm moved around her waist as he leaned down slightly to give her a kiss goodbye. He looked to be the same age as she was, and there was a black wedding ring on his left hand. He was fit and muscular, his physicality visible through the tightness of his sweater, and he looked like one of those celebrities who never seemed to age.
She watched him go before her eyes shifted to me. “Morning, Sicily.”
“Good morning, Cleo.” I forced a smile on my face as I walked up to her, not wanting to wear my problems on my sleeve. I didn’t want to advertise my heartbreak…and my lack of faith in humanity.
She continued to stare at me, her eyes dropping down to my left hand. “So?”
There was something about her that made me want to come clean, to talk to her like she was my mother or a therapist, but I was too ashamed to tell the truth. It wasn’t just embarrassing that it had occurred, that I’d slept with another woman’s husband, but that I’d had no idea this entire time. “Oh…it didn’t happen.” I never wanted to see that man again. I’d fallen for him hard, and just like that, those feelings were gone. It was hard to believe I’d ever pictured him giving me a ring at all.