Page 50 of Infidelity Rules

I step into Marcus’s apartment and take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of rosemary, garlic and browned butter. It’s comforting and solid, just like him.

“Come and get it gorgeous,” he says, putting down his chef knife and opening his arms wide for a hug.

I dive in, throwing my arms around him and wrapping my legs around his waist. I notice he’s set the table with long-stemmed wineglasses, flowers and candles.

And it appears he’s warming up fresh bread, roasting potatoes and sautéing mushrooms in hot butter.

“It looks beautiful in here and it smells so good,” I say, burying my face in his neck. I’m trying not to cry. I don’t want to lead with Juliette, but it seems as if my heart isn’t following my head.

Marcus wraps his arms around me tightly and whispers, “My god woman have I missed you. I don’t want to let you go.”

With that, the tears start to seep from underneath my eyelashes, creating a slick of makeup and salt down my cheeks. There goes my carefully applied mascara.

“Hey, hey, hey, sweetheart, what’s going on?” Marcus asks, peering at my face and gently brushing back my hair. He sets me on his countertop next to a huge hunk of pepper-crusted beef. “What’s wrong babe?”

I take a deep breath and wipe at my wet cheeks. “Marcus,” I say, looking into those blue eyes. “It’s Juliette,” I say, my lips trembling. “She came to Persimmon last night.”

Marcus sighs and pulls me in for a hug. “I’m sorry she did that.”

“When were you going to tell me?” I whisper.

“Tonight.” He takes my hands in his. “I was planning to tell you tonight. Hence, all of this,” he gestures to the wine and candles and all the makings of a romantic dinner. “I thought in some sense, it could be a bit of a celebration.”

“A celebration?” I ask, incredulous.

“Quinn, I’m getting a divorce,” he says, scooping me up and spinning me around the kitchen. “Nothing can hold us back now. I’m free. And I’m all yours.”

Marcus leads me to the table and pours me a glass of red wine. He pulls out a plate of warm, bacon-wrapped dates stuffed with cheese and sets it in front of me.

“Marcus. Is there anything else you want to tell me?”

He sighs and sits down next to me. “Juliette told you she’s pregnant, didn’t she?”

I nod.

Marcus shakes his head. “I was going to tell you about that tonight as well. I just found out myself and I wanted to tell you in person. I’m still wrapping my head around it.”

“Was it the anniversary sex?” I blurt out. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that, it’s none of my business.”

“Hey, it’s okay. I want to be honest with you.

Yes, it must have been because we hadn’t had sex in months.

Not since before Paris. It was our anniversary.

It was rote. And truthfully, it felt like a duty more than anything,” he rubs a hand over his face.

“I’m sorry Quinn. I don’t know what I was thinking except I figured it was our last time. ”

I don’t know what to say. I think I am ready for him. Ready for us. Finally . But a baby?

He pulls me onto his lap. “Quinn, I love you more than anything. More than I ever loved Juliette. And a baby doesn’t change that.”

“But …”

“Wait,” says Marcus, taking my face in his hands. “Do you love me, Quinn?”

“You know I do,” I whisper. “More than I ever thought possible.”

“Then we can do this,” he says. “What we have is worth it. It’s worth everything.”

“But a baby,” I say, trailing off.

He nods. “I know. It’s huge. So yes, I’m going to be a father. But I can be this baby’s dad and not be Juliette’s husband. I can’t go back to that again. Not since I found you,” he says, kissing me softly on the lips.

“You’re going to be a father, Marcus. A father . Are you happy? Excited?”

He nods. “I am. I think. But I know this also complicates things. And I’ve been down this road with Juliette before …” he trails off. “I guess it just doesn’t seem real yet.”

I push away the horrifying thought that comes to my mind. Maybe she’ll miscarry again. Maybe it’s not Marcus’s baby.

I shake my head in a furious attempt to loosen those ugly thoughts and send them spinning away from me. I do not want to be a monster. Messing with a woman’s wandering husband is entirely different from messing with a baby’s dad.

“Marcus, I don’t want to be the woman who breaks up a family,” I say quietly.

He tips my chin up so I am looking directly into his inky blue eyes.

“You did not, have not and will not break up a family,” he says firmly. “There is not a family to break up, Quinn. I am not going back to Juliette.”

“Even if I was out of the picture?”

“Even if,” he says, leaning down to touch his forehead to mine. “Even if.”

We are quiet. The rhythms of our breath in sync. Our foreheads are still together and I can feel my eyelashes brush against his cheeks.

“Quinn,” he whispers. “I am a different man now since you came along. I can’t undo that now, even if I wanted to.”

I nod, relieved but wholly overwhelmed. I want to speak but can’t. I am soaked with emotion and can’t seem to formulate a sentence. It’s all too much. Everything feels so heavy now. And not just the pregnancy, but our relationship. I wanted a fling. A fling.

What have I done?

Marcus is getting a divorce. Marcus is going to be a father. He’ll never be rid of Juliette. I’ll forever be judged.

But Marcus is getting a divorce. A divorce!

Once again, my head and my heart are at war.

“Quinn, you are starting to scare me,” says Marcus, gently kissing my cheeks. “Please, please tell me you aren’t going to let this come between us. Quinn, don’t walk away from us. We’re too good. This is too rare.”

“I know. And I won’t,” I say, putting my lips to his and kissing him deeply. “I can’t. You’re impossible to stay away from. Like it or not, you’re stuck with me.”

Did I just say that?

“Now that’s what I want to hear,” says Marcus, grinning at me and kissing me right back, gently parting my lips with his tongue. “So, bed or beef?” he asks, starting to slide his hands up my sweater.

“Beef! Definitely beef,” I say, just as his hands slip inside my bra and find my nipples. “Ohhhh, forget it. Bed! Definitely bed!”

Two hours later I am well sexed, well fed and happily tucked into Marcus’s powerful arms. He made me sigh with pleasure both in the bedroom and at the dinner table.

Talented man, that one. Right now, at this moment, it seems unfathomable that I even entertained the idea of giving him up.

I know, in my heart, that Marcus is a wholly different man from those of my past. And I am now a different woman.

I can do this , I think. I can love this man. With all my heart.

We are spooning in his bed and playing a half-hearted game of Scrabble, which, for the record, I almost always win.

A baby, a baby, a baby. My mind keeps turning it over.

It’s like an itch I cannot scratch. A hangnail I keep picking at.

A hunk of meat wedged in my teeth I can’t dislodge.

But then I look at Marcus and I know I need him in my life.

And if a baby is part of the package, along with an ex-wife, so be it. I wouldn’t be the first.

“Your turn,” Marcus says, spelling out the word cheese on the board.

“Cheese? Really?” I smile.

“Anything to make you smile,” he says, looking at me with those twinkling blue eyes. “Beat that my love. I’ll be right back.”

I’m fiddling with my letters and eyeing the board when Marcus slides a long, black velvet box in front of me.

“What’s this?” I ask, my eyes going wide as my stomach pitches into that familiar Tilt-a-Whirl lurch. It can’t be an engagement ring, can it? The box is too big. And he’s still married. And it’s too soon.

But oh how I would love to be his wife.

I clap my hand over my mouth as I fear I just said that aloud. I didn’t even know I felt that way.

“Open it you nut,” he says, nuzzling my neck. “Here, there’s even a card.”

Your hair is red.

Your lips are red.

We both like cheese.

Your hair, your lips, my love for you — still red, red and red.

Cheese.

I laugh and topple into Marcus. “You are terrible at these,” I say, kissing every part of his face.

“You started it.” He grins at me. “Now open it! Open, open, open,” he chants.

I pry open the lid and find a stunning emerald tennis bracelet nestled in black velvet. It’s breathtaking, the emeralds that perfect, unmatchable, shimmering shade of green.

“Oh Marcus,” I say, staring at the piece of jewelry, almost afraid to touch it. “It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“It’s just like you,” he says softly, lifting out the bracelet and clasping it around my wrist. “The moment I saw it, it reminded me of you.”