Chapter 2
Harrison came home after midnight.
I was sitting at the kitchen table when he walked in.
He smelled of beer, rain, and Bianca’s perfume.
“Are you finished punishing me?” he asked.
I looked at him.
“Did you kiss her back?”
He dropped his keys on the counter.
“We already talked about this.”
“No. You gave me excuses. I asked you a question.”
Harrison sighed.
“It happened for three seconds.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“She was excited. Everyone was pushing. I’d been drinking.”
“So you kissed her back.”
He pulled out a chair.
“I’m not having a trial in my own kitchen.”
“Our kitchen,” I corrected. “Our marriage.”
His phone lit up on the table.
Bianca.
He turned it facedown.
Too late.
I had already seen the message.
Is she still being dramatic?
Harrison reached for the phone, but I picked it up first.
“Give that back.”
I read the next message as it appeared.
You should have stayed with me. Tonight was supposed to be ours.
My chest tightened.
“Harrison, what does she mean by ‘ours’?”
“She’s talking about the match.”
“Then why should you have stayed with her?”
He took the phone from my hand.
“You’re twisting everything because you’re angry.”
“I’m angry because another woman kissed my husband and then complained that he came home to me.”
“She’s my best friend.”
“I’m your wife.”
“Why do you always make me choose?”
The words landed between us.
I stared at him.
“I shouldn’t have to make you choose.”
His jaw tightened.
“Bianca has been in my life since we were teenagers.”
“And I have been your wife for six years.”
“That doesn’t erase my history.”
“I never asked you to erase it. I asked you to protect our marriage.”
He looked away.
That was my answer.
I stood and removed my wedding ring.
For one second, Harrison looked frightened.
Then his expression changed.
“Don’t be dramatic, Dahlia.”
I didn’t throw the ring at him.
I didn’t leave it on the table.
I placed it inside my jewelry box.
It was mine. I would decide what happened to it.
Then I picked up the pillow and blanket I had placed on the chair.
Harrison frowned.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m sleeping in the guest room.”
“Over one stupid kiss?”
“No,” I said. “Because my husband still thinks the kiss is the problem.”
I walked down the hallway and locked the guest-room door behind me.
Then I opened my phone and canceled the anniversary dinner I had booked for Friday.
This time, I made no new plans for us.