Page 4 of Mr. Strategic

“I don’t want to divorce you, Lavender.”

“You don’t?”

My stomach twisted with anxiety.

“Of course not. I’m very happy with our life together. Aren’t you?”

Was I?

“But—” I began, feeling strangled.

“No buts,” Michael said firmly as he pulled into our driveway. “This changes nothing.”

This Ferrari was my husband’s baby, and after he carefully glided it into the garage, he turned to look at me.

“What you saw at the office has nothing to do with you and does not affect our life together at all. So put it out of your mind.”

And without another word Michael opened his door.

I felt frozen, had to force my legs to move to get out of the car as he came around to my side.

How was I supposed to putthisout of my mind?

As my husband went upstairs to shower, I moved to start dinner, pulling the marinated steak out to pan sear it.

He didn’t want to divorce me.

My initial gush of relief was quickly replaced with a low thrum of fear and uncertainty.

He didn’t want to divorce me, but. . . what now?

Was he going to stop? He said nothing about stopping.

I felt numb.

Michael came downstairs in a white polo shirt and navy slacks, looking tall and unworried, and I moved to set dinner on the table.

He sat down and uncorked the wine, asking in his cold, precise voice how my earlier shift at the library had gone.

I wasn’t even sure what I said.

I tried to answer normally, even though the same things ran through my head.

Michael and Alix

For how long?

Had he ever brought her to our home?

After dinner, we sat in the living room together and Michael put on classical music and then a replay of some professional golf game.

We walked upstairs for bed, Michael’s hand resting coolly on my lower back. Like everything was normal!

“Shouldn’t we—talk?” I asked in a small voice. “About your—affair?”

“It’s not an affair,” Michael said, pulling off his polo shirt.

Shadows illuminated the finely-honed perfection of his body, and my breath caught as I tightened my fingers around my wedding ring.