Yours Suddenly

Chapter 8

Alexandra

Three nights later, Roman slips into our bed at one a.m. smelling of another woman.

For the past three days, we've barely seen or said anything to each other. Just the occasional greeting and impersonal brush of his lips on my cheek or forehead.

Everything has been marred by my feelings of being rejected. The lingerie and perfume and all the sexy stuff I bought lie unused in a closet. A complete waste of money because it seems like he's getting action from someone else.

As I lie in the half-darkness, moonlight spilling in through the vast windows, I want to wake up and make a scene as blood boils through me. I'm in disbelief. Tears start streaming down my face and I clasp a hand over my mouth in case a sob escapes.

I listen to his breathing, and when it becomes even and slower, I get up and go to the bathroom. I walk to the mirror and stare at myself, noticing the inadequacies.

Maybe my lips are too thin, my boobs too small (impossible), my stomach not flat enough.

Or maybe I'm just overreacting.

Maybe a woman threw herself into his arms. Maybe he went to a bar to de-stress, and a woman jumped on him, not knowing he was married, not seeing the ring on his finger.

In the mirror, I look at my own ring, a large diamond shining on it. I get an urge to remove it and flush it down the toilet but I don't, of course.

I'm probably overreacting. I take three deep breaths and get back to bed.

I don't get any sleep, though. I keep tossing and turning and when morning approaches and it's time for him to get up, I pretend to be knocked out. I only wake after he's showered and left. Without him here, I feel an odd relief, but at the same time an emptiness. The smell of this other woman's perfume has dissipated but it still lingers in my mind, mocking me.

Throughout the day, as Adrianne and Mama and I redecorate rooms and suites of all the hotels and restaurants Roman owns, I am plagued with that smell. Sickly sweet, like roses. An image is forming in my mind of her. A taller, sexier, funner version of me.

“Are you okay?” Adrianne says when she notices my perpetually furrowed brow.

“All good,” I say. I look at the color palettes she’s examining on her phone as we stand in the middle of a massive pink bathroom, Matthew and Blake and Freddy all standing by the door playing rock, paper, scissors. “I think cream would be best.”

I have to see what he’s up to. I have to follow him.

The problem is I have no idea where he goes these days. I can ask Blake, but he obviously won't tell me, he's too loyal to my husband and it’ll sound suspicious. Men protect each other when they do shitty things like cheating.

The only person I can ask for help is his sister.

“I want to surprise Rome wherever he is right now,” I say to her as we sit down at the dinner table, the kitchen staff bringing in the supper. It still feels weird to be served dinner by other people. In the first days, I was very much content with getting my food from the kitchen by myself.

“Well,” Adrianne says, “it's a Friday, so he could be anywhere. My best guess is he’s in a meeting with his investors. So… the Ipling?”

I nod. She nods, watching me carefully.

“Okay,” I say. “Blake is off duty because no one really expects me to go out at night.”

“Freddy and I will take you, only if Freddy doesn't know what Blake discusses with Roman,” Adrianne says. “So if Roman wants to keep you away from him, Freddy probably wouldn't know. Only Blake would.”

“Okay, let's go then.”

Upstairs, I change into a stunning, form-fitting pink Versace dress since I don't want to give my dear husband a bad image when I unexpectedly join him for dinner. Adrianne remains in her jeans and sleeveless top because she doesn't plan on coming inside with me.

Freddy drives us through a balmy New York night to the Ipling.

“We'll be waiting in the parking garage,” Adrianne says from the front seat, and Freddy gives me a nod.

Nervously, I step out of the car, walk through the glittering revolving doors, and ask the receptionist where the bar is. When I step inside the alcoholic space full of well-dressed, expensive- smelling people, I scan and search, not sure if I’m going to find him here. Adrianne said if he isn’t here, we'll try other places he could be.

I stroll deeper inside the bar, attracting glances from the patrons… and see him at the far end of the room.

He's sitting at a table, relaxed, and nonchalant, and next to him is a woman.

Blonde and beautiful.

Men also sit at the table around him, laughing and leaning towards him. Roman looks very young compared to all of them in their forties and fifties trying to get his attention.

I step forward, my entire body shaking. Maybe she's not with him. Maybe she's with one of these men who always feel like they need someone young at their elbow. With each step I take, the music of the bar becomes more of an echo.

And then the woman leans to say something in his ear. He cuts his eyes lazily to her, his face expressionless. The woman says something again and then he smiles. I don't think I've seen him smile in a while now.

She throws an arm around his shoulder, caressing his back.

The music comes back sharply to my ears. I walk quicker. He pulls his gaze away from her and to me. For a fraction of a second, his eyes widen and then they go back to being lidded and bored-looking.

“Roman?” I ask.

The woman’s arm is still around him and I can't fucking breathe. He doesn’t even shrug it off.

“What the fuck is going on here?” I say, my voice coming out shaky.

The men around my husband turn to look at me, and even though they are older, they let out immature whistles and start to giggle amongst themselves like schoolboys caught doing something bad. Roman regards me. He sits up, placing his elbows on the table, slightly leaning forward, the woman’s arm still on his shoulder.

“What are you doing here, honey? I'm in the middle of a meeting.” He gestures to the papers strewn on the table.

“Does a meeting require you to have another woman caressing you?”

I glance at her. She’s turned slightly pink, removing her arm from Roman then, but smirks at me. I want to slap her, and then slap him, but I'm too shocked to move.

“Who is this?” I ask him, voice shaking.

“Her name is Allison!” one of the men around the table shouts.

“It's Katie!” she says, faking annoyance. “Katie is not even close to Allison, guys!”

The men laugh. They’re clearly drunk. My husband is not. I know what he looks like when he's not sober. His jaw starts twitching a lot. For a moment he regards the men around him with mild distaste and then swings his gaze back to me.

“And—and why are you with Katie? I say to him, my voice breaking.

“Baby,” he says, “did you honestly think that you were going to be the only woman? A man of my caliber?”

The men around him laugh again and I see his jaw twitch. Tears sting my eyes and I open and close my mouth before I turn to leave. They stream down my face, and I wipe them away furiously, not wanting him to see I've been shattered into a million pieces.

I leave the bar and enter a bathroom to compose myself. I don't want Adrianne to see me like this when I get back to the car. It's humiliating.

In the bathroom mirror, I frantically wipe my tears, get some concealer from my bag, and dab it to hide how swollen my eyes are. I'm expecting to see him when I step out of the bathroom, hoping he came after me so I can make a scene, but he hasn’t.

I feel like a robot, like I don't have emotions, and I'm just floating along. I drift out of the hotel and head in the direction opposite to where Adrianne and Freddy are parked, walking down a mostly deserted pavement, skyscrapers rising to the night sky...

I don't know where I'm going at first. Then after a couple of minutes of passing people staring at me in Versace, I take my phone out, text Adrianne I found Roman and that she and Freddy don't have to wait for me.

I hail an Uber just as my phone begins to ring again. It's him again.

There have been ten missed calls from him. Oh, now he wants to talk? Instead of ignoring it like I’ve done ten times, I deliberately reject his call this time. He calls again and I reject it. This happens five times before he texts: baby where are you?? just as the Uber pulls up next to me.

“The airport?” the driver says, looking at me through the rearview mirror.

“Yes, please,” I say.