Page 88 of The Fake WIfe Playbook

She thinks I chose Tess, and I’m not sure I can convince her otherwise.

I press the heels of my palms to my eyes, trying to hold in the scream clawing up my throat. No one’s here to hear it anyway. Just me and my guilt. And this sick, sinking feeling in my gut that I might’ve just lost the love of my life because I didn’t act fast enough.

And maybe that’s what makes this hell—that I didn’t do it. Maybe I deserve to lose her.

Mikael calls.

“What is going on? You’ve been MIA. Why is the press lying about you?”

Hum.

“Maybe because I stupidly met with Tess. She texted, said some she wanted to meet and clear the air. She was one of the women who bullied Kate at the charity event. You know, the first one, right after Vegas.”

“And…”

“Well, I thought I could reason with her and get her to back off. I thought maybe if I gave her a few minutes, she would suddenly leave us alone.”

“And how’d that work for you?”

I know it’s a rhetorical question, but I answer her myself.

“Not good. It was a setup. I can’t believe I fell for it. I mean, it’s a rookie mistake...” My voice trails off. I’m in love with my wife, and it kills me that she’s not here. I was so stupid. “Why did I ever think Tess would do the right thing?”

“Because you’re a nice guy and you want to believe the best in everyone.”

“Tell that to Kate. Nothing happened. And Kate’s not speaking to me.”

“Get off your ass then.”

“What do you mean?”

“Where is she?”

“Supposedly, she’s in Nashville, probably at her apartment.”

“Then why are you in Maine?”

Good question. I’ve been wallowing for days. I need to take control of the situation, but I’m afraid she’ll never understand.”

“What are my odds?” I ask my best friend.

“Dude, if I knew that I’d be a billionaire. You just need to tell her the truth. She’s reasonable. We all make mistakes.”

“Yeah, but you don’t know Kate, she’s been through a lot.”

“You have to try, right?”

“Sure, but what if she doesn’t see my side?”

“It’s better to have love and lost than to have never loved at all,” he says. “Now get your ass on that plane.”

I knocked, eager to see if someone would come to the door. I psyched myself up the entire flight here. I shoved the door open; my heart was hammering so hard I could barely breathe. Then I see my wife—Kate. Standing in the middle of her living room, as if she’d been holding herself up just long enough to tell me to go to hell.

She didn’t say anything at first. She just stared, arms folded, like she was bracing for impact.

"Kate—please." My voice cracked. Hell, I hadn’t even gotten past one word, and I already sounded like a man on his knees. “Please, let me explain."

She doesn’t move, but her silence speaks volumes.