Page 29 of Infidelity Rules

Daily Special

Bone-in grilled pork chops with rosemary and fennel pollen

Caramelized fennel & charred lemon

Crispy polenta with Sambuca butter

I’m hiding in Persimmon’s wine cellar with a note from Marcus clasped to my chest. I need to read it again.

The heavy cream paper is already creased and soft like a favorite T-shirt thanks to the number of times I’ve read and re-read his latest note.

I savor the scent of Marcus lingering on the paper — salty sea air, citrus and Scotch — and sink down to my knees to read.

Hello my gorgeous redhead,

I can’t get enough of you. And yet, it feels as if I have known you a lifetime.

I am beyond smitten.

I have, unequivocally, fallen in love with you Quinn. And I need you in my life.

Always.

You are the one I have been looking for.

Marcus

I stare at his words. “You are the one I’ve been looking for, too,” I whisper, tracing the penned words with my fingers.

My heart feels too big for my chest. I swear my ribcage cannot contain it.

I have read this note over and over and over again and each time it brings me to my knees.

Literally. Which is why I started there this time.

Saves me the trouble. I’m about to read the note one last time before heading back to my tables when Julian walks in and finds me, hidden in the wine cellar, on my knees. I must look like a total nutcase.

“Whoa, Q. You okay?” he asks, helping me up. “I didn’t even know you were here. Haven’t seen you all night.”

“I’m fine,” I say, brushing off my pants and standing up as I blow out a sigh.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

I wordlessly hand him the note. Julian has been with me for this whole wild ride, may as well continue with it.

He quickly reads the words and hands it back to me, eyebrows raised.

“And this is a bad thing? I thought you two were nuts about each other. You certainly act like it,” he says, smirking.

“Yes and no,” I say, my face-splitting grin betraying my conflicted heart. “It just makes things more complicated is all.”

“Love always does Q. It always does.”

.....

Julian is right. Love does complicate things.

But I knew it was headed in this direction.

We have spent the last few months doing nothing but flirting and texting and talking on the phone just about every night.

It’s as if he’s not even married. We see each other almost weekly — even if it’s just for a quick kiss at Persimmon before he heads to the airport.

Or sometimes we meet for long, meandering walks around the city when he returns from a flight.

I’ve never been this involved with any of my other married men.

And I’m both delighted and terrified. It depends on the day. Sometimes the hour.

Things really started to pick up speed with us after Elliot’s dinner party and the fiasco with Emma in the kitchen.

In fact, that whole dinner party blow up didn’t even seem to faze him.

He actually laughed his ass off afterward, his blue eyes dancing at the thought of me tutoring women in the ways of feminine wiles.

“Don’t get me wrong, I think you’d be a sensational tutor,” he had said at the time, when we were safely back at his hotel after the party. “It’s just the look on your face in that kitchen, when Emma howled about wanting lessons, killed me.”

“You’re not upset with me?” I had asked, after explaining about Zack and then Cindy’s surprise visit and demented request while Dezi and I were having brunch.

“I’m not. I know you were dating other men,” he said. “But …” he trailed off.

“But what?” I asked.

“I don’t have the right to ask, but I’m going to anyway,” he said, pulling me in close and gently kissing my cheeks and then my lips. “No more other men. I want it to just be me.”

.....

I fold up the note and Julian holds the cellar door open for me as we both head back to our customers.

“It’s a slow night,” he says to me. “You know where to find me if you need an ear.”

“I do. Thank you, Julian,” I say gratefully, giving him a hug. We are finally on hugging terms. Well, I hug and he allows it. But still. I am so thankful for him. He’s been my rock these last several months and he doesn’t pry, which is priceless.

I make my usual rounds, pouring several selections of Italian red wines to accompany what is a very Italian specialty menu. People are sighing with pleasure all over the dining room thanks to Chef’s crispy polenta with just a hint of sweet anise.

“How did the chef make this?” asks one woman, swiping a heel of bread across her plate, wiping up every last, buttery bit. “It’s crispy on the outside but like custard on the inside,” she marvels to her friends at the table. “I must have this recipe,” she says to me.

“I’ll see what I can do.” I smile and top off her wineglass.

“Thank you,” she says, clasping my arm and peering up at me. “Pardon my asking, but are you single?”

“I’m not.” I blush and feel for Marcus’s note in my pocket. “I have a boyfriend.” Boyfriend , I think. I’m still getting used to saying that aloud. I do know that, by any normal frame of reference, I’m actually single. A married boyfriend doesn’t count for most people.

But I am not most people. And it counts for me.

“Shame,” says the woman. “Because you’re so tall. And my nephew is so tall. It would be a perfect match.”

I smile and internally roll my eyes. That’s like saying, well, you have brown hair and my nephew has brown hair so …. I mean, really? Don’t people get that?

I finish pouring their wine and head into the kitchen to see how many more special plates are available to order this evening.

“Quinn,” booms Chef as he plates an order of Coq au Vin, sprinkling fresh chopped parsley and lemon zest over the shallow bowl of chicken stew. “What is happening with our cheese cart? I’m not in love with the cheese.”

Uh oh , I think, as Chef drizzles the chicken with olive oil.

“I was in love with the cheese. But I am no longer in love with the cheese,” he says, looking at me, hands now on his generous hips.

“Yeah. I sort of had a falling out with the owner of Barnyard Funk,” I say, sighing. “I was trying a different cheese shop for now.”

Chef raises an eyebrow at me. “This pains me greatly,” he says. “FIX. IT.”

I nod as Chef storms out of the kitchen.

I’m trying , I think. And believe me, this pains me greatly too.

I have attempted to reach out to Elliot multiple times with no luck.

He’s still cranky with me and yanking his cheese is his way of showing his solidarity to Emma, according to Dezi, anyway.

He tolerates me now as Dezi’s friend, but, thus far, doesn’t want a relationship beyond that. Even a business one.

“What a night,” I say to Julian, as I finally wrap up my shift and make my way to the bar.

“Nightcap?” he asks, already pouring me my favorite Cognac.

“Please.” I gratefully take the glass and wrap my hands around the bowl.

“No pilot tonight?”

I shake my head but don’t offer up that the pilot is with his wife. I hate these nights.

We are comfortably silent for a few minutes. Julian sets up for tomorrow while I slowly sip my drink, letting the heat of the alcohol seep through my veins, blurring the vivid slide show in my head of Marcus at home with his wife. A wife I still know nothing about.

“So, what’s new with you?” I ask Julian, breaking the quiet. “How’s life outside the bar?”

“There is such a thing?” he replies.

“Come on. You know the story of my life. I jog the Tidal Basin, eat way too much cheese and date a pilot. Hell, you even know all about my family in Baltimore.”

“You, Q, are much more interesting than I am,” he says, tossing a bar mop over his shoulder and smiling at me. “But you can ask me anything.”

“As if I ever get a real answer,” I say, throwing a crumpled napkin at his head.

“But before you ask, let me save you the trouble,” he says, dodging and blocking the napkin balls I keep hurling at him. “No. I am not dating anybody.”

I sigh. “Okay then, we’re going to play the Alex and Quinn game.”

Julian looks at me sideways.

“If you were on a desert island, what three items would you take? And at least one of them has to be a person.”

“My drums. My motorcycle. And you,” he says with a grin.

“I knew you were going to do that,” I exclaim. “You can’t say me. OR your mother.”

“So many rules, Q. So many rules.”

I shake my head. “You are impossible.”

“Violet,” Julian says quietly.

I look up at him from my drink, willing him to say more. I decide to keep my mouth shut.

“Violet,” he says again. “Definitely.”

“And she is …?” I prompt, clearly unable to remain silent — how does Alex do that?

“The one that got away,” he says simply.

Well, that is a doozy. But I know Julian well enough to know that I’m not getting anything more out of him tonight.

We are back to comfortable silence when Julian glances over my shoulder and says, “Hey, your friend is here. Haven’t seen her for a while.”

Dezi, I think, delighted. I know that Elliot isn’t thrilled with me, but Dezi and I are fine, thankfully.

I just don’t get to see her as much anymore.

Things were a little rough right after “Cake Night,” as we like to call it now, but we’re okay.

In fact, I think we are even closer now if that’s possible.

We’re still navigating the rocky road between me and Elliot, but with time, I’m hopeful we’ll come to a detente.

We have to, right? Apparently, Elliot equates befriending me with betraying Emma.

And, according to Dezi, he’s still annoyed with himself for not kicking Greg’s ass to begin with.

And then for upsetting Emma on “Cake Night” by inadvertently inviting a philandering husband and his mistress.

I get it, I suppose. And I still feel terrible for causing Emma any pain. What a mess.

I shudder thinking of that embarrassing night. Especially when Emma shoved the waffle-feeding photos in Elliot’s face. I mean seriously, what’s the likelihood of running into a friend of Zack’s wife, at my best friend’s boyfriend’s home? It still boggles my mind.

But if I think too hard, I know I deserved it. The total nightmare of a scene. And I wonder now, had I not already fallen in love with Marcus, if I would have changed my dating ways.

.....

I turn around just in time to see my tiny blonde friend marching towards me, her gorgeous, high-heeled shoes a lyrical staccato on the hardwood floors. She stands fiercely in front of me, arms crossed and feet planted wide, as if she’s staring down her boxing opponent before entering the ring.

“Hey, hey, hey,” I say. “Dez, are you okay? What’s going on?”

She’s not her usual calm, serene self. She looks pretty pissed off.

“What’s happening?” I ask, wondering if I should go in for our usual hug.

I glance over at Julian just as he slides another Cognac in front of Dezi. I mouth, “Thank you,” as he nods and turns his back to us.

Dezi takes a deep breath. Then another. I swear she’s radiating steam.

“You know I love you Quinn, but you have to fix this,” she says. “I don’t know how to be your friend and Elliot’s girlfriend. This just sucks.”

“What happened?”

“Are you kidding me?” she says, her blue eyes pools of dark ink. “Zack. Zack happened. And now Marcus. No. Wait. Actually, first it was James. Then Derek was it? Or was Nathan next?”

I don’t know what to say. She’s right.

“They were married, Quinn. All of them. And now I feel like a jerk for standing by. Marcus is married. You need to face that reality.”

Her words are a punch in the gut, like when I was a kid and got nailed in the stomach during dodgeball games. Ooof.

“You don’t think I know that?” I whisper to Dezi, running my fingers through my already crazy, untamed hair. “You don’t think I feel totally out of control here?”

Dezi sighs and shakes her head. “Quinn. We barely see each other because Elliot just can’t wrap his head around you and Marcus. I’m trying to smooth things over, but it feels ridiculous when you two are still sneaking around and lying to Marcus’s wife. You’re making it impossible for me.”

“He’s not punishing you for my choices, is he?” I ask.

“No, but he’s upset. He’s trying to balance my feelings and Emma’s.

And he genuinely liked you and Marcus, so he feels blindsided.

Look Quinn, I want you all in my life, but I can’t keep defending you.

Not when you refuse to make any changes.

I’m starting to feel foolish. And totally caught in the middle. ”

I stare at her.

“You have t o fix this,” she says. “I need you both in my life.”

I watch my best friend turn and leave and then put my head in my hands.

I don’t know whether to cry or be angry.

My life, however screwed up it is, is none of Elliot’s fucking business.

And Marcus’s life is none of Elliot’s fucking business.

And if he takes it out on Dezi so help me I will open up a can of whoop ass on that short little dude.

Who does he think he is? He knows nothing about me. Nothing.

A strong, gentle hand on my shoulder interrupts my internal psychotic rant.

Julian.

“Hey. Q. You okay?”

“Not really. I have made a mess of things. And I don’t know how to fix it.”

Julian hands me a bowl of nuts. “So I heard.”

“Oh boy. And you still want to talk to me?”

Julian sighs. “You definitely surprised me Quinn. Which rarely happens.”

“And …” I prompt.

“I’m still here,” he says matter-of-factly.

Oh thank god, I think, relieved. I feel myself start to unclench a bit.

“Marcus is really married?” Julian asks.

I nod.

“When did you find out?”

I fight the urge to avoid Julian’s gaze and instead look directly at him.

“Before Paris?” he asks, his eyebrows raised.

“From the very beginning,” I whisper, nodding. “I knew from the very beginning.”