Page 20 of My Only (My First, My Last)

I stared at the screen, my stomach tightening.

Thought of you?

What the hell did that even mean?

My fingers hovered over the phone, tempted to scroll up further, to see what other shit she had to say in past weeks.

But I hesitated.

Did I really want to know?

I squeezed my lips together, my pulse humming in my ears.

This isn’t me.

I don’t check Hassani’s phone. I don’t dig. I don’t snoop.

But why did I feel like I should?

A sudden movement in my peripheral made my heart jump.

I looked up.

Hassani was only a few feet away.

I swallowed hard, a flicker of guilt making my hands shake as I closed out of his phone and set it back on the table.

I didn’t do anything wrong… right?

Pushing my chair back, I stood quickly. “I’ll be back.”

I walked past him, but he caught me by the hand, stopping me.

His eyes—golden, warm, always seeing right through me—searched my face. “You good, baby?”

My heart kicked up, but I forced an easy smile. “Yeah.” I squeezed his hand, then gently pulled free. “I’ll be right back.”

I made my way toward the restroom, willing my pulse to settle.

But the moment I stepped inside, I went straight to the vanity, pressing my palms against the cool surface.

What the hell is this woman’s problem?

She had to know what she was doing was inappropriate.

Lifting my gaze to the mirror, I caught my reflection. And what I saw made me pause.

Tears.

They were building in my eyes, and I hadn’t even realized it.

I blinked, and one slid down my cheek. Then another.

Damn it.

Ripping a napkin from the dispenser, I quickly blotted my face dry.

Why am I crying?

I wasn’t that upset. I wasn’t that insecure.

But the questions kept swarming.

Why was Harper texting my husband?

Why was she thinking about his office decor?

And then…

Wait… what does his office even look like?

The realization settled like a weight in my chest.

I didn’t know what Hassani’s new office looked like.

Why didn’t I know?

It wasn’t important, I guess. It was just an office.

But something about her knowing—and me not—bothered the hell out of me.

When he worked out of his private space—only seven minutes from Park Avenue Prep—I used to stop by for lunch. We’d eat together, catch up, spend little moments in each other’s world.

But now he was over ten minutes away.

And I hadn’t bothered to stop by.

And he hadn’t invited me.

I stood there for a few minutes longer, only leaving when another woman walked in and headed for a stall.

On the way back to our table, I debated.

Should I say something?

About the text? About not being invited to his office?

It all sounded so petty in my head.

I’d always hated how Hassani’s ex-girlfriends treated me when we were just friends. They hated me. Always convinced I wanted him, that I was some kind of threat.

I never wanted to be that kind of woman to them.

And as his wife, I never wanted to make him feel like I was doubting him.

But as I walked back toward our table, all I could hear was one thing.

Harper’s text, looping in my mind like a song I didn’t want to hear.

“Saw this today and thought of you.”

God, I wished Harper had shown me the same fucking grace I gave to Hassani’s girlfriends back when I was just his friend.

She clearly didn’t see me as his wife, though. Just an obstacle. A footnote.

By the time I made it back to our table, Hassani spun in his chair, standing the second he saw me.

Always the gentleman.

If I hadn’t just read those texts, I would have been smiling for real.

“Everything all right?” he asked, taking my hand.

I nodded, forcing a smile. “I’m great.”

A lie.

Inside, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right to save my life.

Hassani stepped closer, pressing a warm kiss to my forehead before leading me back to my seat. He pulled out my chair, waited for me to settle before sliding it under the table.

So smooth. So effortless.

Like a man with nothing to hide.

So then… why hadn’t he told me that woman was texting him?

The question sat heavy in my chest.

Through the rest of dinner, it was there. Hovering.

Hassani did most of the talking, and I nodded in all the right places. Laughed where I was supposed to. Chimed in when necessary.

I put on my best act.

And it was pure torture.

But what was I supposed to say?

Hey baby… ummm… I checked your phone and saw Harper texting you at weird-ass hours… thoughts?

It sounded so childish. So petty.

So insecure.

So… I let it sit.

The war raged on in my head while we ate, while we drank, even while I picked at my favorite dessert and barely tasted a bite.

By the time we left the restaurant, heading to drop off Mrs. Franklin’s dessert before going home, I felt exhausted.

Outside, as we made our way to the car, Hassani took my hand, interlocking his fingers with mine.

“So, we cool again?” His smile was so bright. So damn genuine.

I looked over at him, wanting to feel the warmth of it. Wanting to let it all go.

I smiled back. “We’re cool.”

But we weren’t.

I held his hand tighter than usual that night, my heart full of concern and my mind tangled in doubt.

And as we got into the car, one question played over and over in my mind.

Should I be worried about Harper?