Chapter 2

By breakfast, Bridget was telling Malcolm's mother how to keep my husband happy.

"Let him eat before you ask him to decide anything," she said, sliding his plate closer. "He'll agree to almost anything once he's had breakfast."

Malcolm laughed and caught her hand before she could take it away.

His mother had come over to discuss Friday's dinner. She watched them with a smile.

"You certainly know how to talk to him."

I'd given Bridget that advice myself, back when she'd complained that he never answered questions about our plans.

I'd told her about the quiet mornings when Malcolm would listen to me, before work took over his day. I'd thought I was telling a friend how we'd learned to live together.

Now she squeezed his fingers and looked at me.

"See? You don't have to argue with him."

Malcolm released her hand. His eyes stayed on my face as I sat down.

His mother opened the notes I'd left on the kitchen counter.

"Bridget, why don't you handle the rest of the dinner? Jocelyn has enough to do with that inn."

"I'd be happy to." Bridget looked at Malcolm. "And I told the caterer we won't need time for a speech."

I'd told her about that, too. How I'd hoped Malcolm might say a few words about our marriage.

She'd said I deserved to hear them.

"He hates speaking in front of people," she explained now.

"Exactly," his mother said. "An anniversary should be enjoyable for him, too."

Malcolm looked up before I'd spoken.

"Please don't get upset about the speech, Jocelyn. It doesn't mean anything."

Last month, I'd asked him what he'd say. I'd teased him about practicing in the mirror, hoping he'd tell me he already knew.

Now I reached for the coffee.

"Then leave it out."

Bridget's smile faltered.

"You were so excited about it."

"I've changed my mind."

Malcolm set his fork down.

I turned to Bridget. "I'll forward the remaining confirmations. You'll have the florist's details and the final guest count."

His mother nodded. "That's sensible."

Bridget glanced at Malcolm, then back at me. "You don't want to check everything with me?"

"No. You can finish it."

I took my coffee upstairs. Malcolm followed me.

"You're handing her our entire anniversary dinner?"

"Your mother asked her to take over. You seem happy with what she's doing."

"That doesn't mean you have to stop caring about it."

I stopped outside our bedroom.

He moved closer. "You used to call me at work to ask about flowers. Now you won't even look at the plans."

"Bridget knows what you like."

His expression softened. He reached for my hand.

"So that's what this is about."

"What?"

"Bridget. You're jealous."

He smiled as he said it, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles.

"You know you're my wife."

I looked at the hand holding mine. He'd held Bridget's over breakfast without worrying about who might see.

From the stairs, she called his name.

"I found a hotel for Friday night. I'll go after dinner so you two can have the house to yourselves."

Malcolm turned.

"Which hotel?"

She held up her phone. "I'll show you."

He let go of my hand and went to her. Before they'd reached the stairs, he was telling her he'd find somewhere closer.

I went into the bedroom.

The divorce attorney had offered me an appointment that afternoon. I accepted, then opened the email account we'd always used for travel bookings.

I used to handle those arrangements. Since Malcolm had taken over, I'd stopped reading the confirmations our travel agent still sent there.

I searched Bridget's name.