Chapter One

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My nude-colored Christian Louboutin pumps smack the pavement in a rhythmic click-clack as I cross the busy Manhattan Street. My long, honey-blonde hair tickles my back as it bounces against my bare shoulder blades and my peach Chanel sundress flutters in the warm spring breeze. There is a bounce in my step today that cannot be deterred. Taxi cabs honk their horns and clog the streets – highlighting them in yellow – as they rush people to meetings and business lunches. Thick, black clouds of exhaust pollute the air as buses whoosh by. Vendors call out and advertise asinine prices on fake Gucci sunglasses and Louis Vuitton and Hermes Birkin handbags. Tourists pack the sidewalks while they take pictures at popular landmarks like the Empire State Building, Radio City Music Hall and Rockefeller Center.

Any other day I would have been annoyed by the traffic and the fact that it takes thirty-some minutes and almost forty hard earned dollars to go two miles, and I would have taken my aggression out on an underserving spin bike – but today is different. Today I got the best news an intern could ask for, and as I ascend the stairs to my beautiful, million-dollar, Upper East Side townhome, I start to contemplate the best restaurant to celebrate my good news.

As I unlock the front door and type in the code to the security system, excitement bubbles inside of me, and threatens to boil over.

"Hey babe! I'm home early!" I call out. I can't stop smiling as I step out of my heels and place my keys onto the cherrywood end table in the spacious foyer. "Will! I have incredible news!"

"Shit!" I hear a voice hiss from upstairs.

My excitement quickly turns to fear as the thud of footsteps and a thunderous crash echo against the high ceilings in the main stairwell. I hold my breath and my eyes frantically dart around the room as I search for signs of an intruder, unsure of what I'll do if I find any. Will and I live in a safe neighborhood, and invested in a top-notch security system, but this is New York. Safe is never safe enough.

"Uh...h - hello?" I call out again. My voice comes out weak and unsteady. "Will, is that you?"

Another crash. More agitated whispers.

Are we being robbed in broad daylight?

My chest tightens and the quickening of my heartbeat is so pronounced it feels like the beat drop of an EDM song is being played beneath my breastbone. I draw my phone from my purse as I begin to climb the stairs – suddenly wondering if I should have run outside and called 911 instead of channeling my Nancy Drew – and pull up Will's contact.

The wooden steps creak underneath my feet as I near the top of the staircase. My breath comes out in heavy bursts. A flood of emotions rush through me – Distress. Apprehension. Fear. Helplessness – and I begin to slowly creep back down the stairs, changing my mind about taking on an intruder by myself, but my heart drops and I freeze when I hear my designated ringtone on Will's phone emanate from our bedroom.

"What are you doing?" I hear him ask, his voice a harsh whisper. "Put your fucking clothes on. My wife is home!"

My lips feel dry, so I stick my tongue out to wet them. I struggle to control my panicked breathing with each rise and fall of my chest. The door is closed over, and I already know what I'm going to find, but that doesn't soften the blow when I push it open and see Will rushing to get dressed.

"What...the fuck, " I say.

"Shit. Delaney, I can explain. This...this isn't what it looks like."

Anger rolls through me and I feel my entire body begin to tremble. This isn't what it looks like? Is he serious? I just caught him with his pants down – literally – and he has the nerve to tell me it isn't what it looks like?

Does he honestly think I'm that stupid?

He pulls up his black Tommy John boxer briefs and rushes to my side, his feet tangling in the throw blanket I drape over the edge of the bed in the process. I glower at him as he reaches out and wraps his fingers around my biceps, holding me in place. The moment I feel his hands touch my skin I recoil.

Where were his hands ten minutes ago?

"Get off me!" I shout. I rip my arms from his tight grip and back away from him. "Don't fucking touch me. Just...get away from me."

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry." He holds his hands up in surrender and sighs. "I know this looks bad, but I swear it's not what you think."

"Really? Because it looks a lot like you're fucking someone who isn't me!"

"I'm not...that's not what this is," he denies.

"Stop lying! I caught you basically in the act and you don't even have the decency to be honest with me? Not to mention you're naked. So, if you're not having an affair, what are you doing?"

"If you'd just let me –"

"How could you do this to us?" I interrupt. "We've been married six months, Will. Six months! And with your assistant? Could you be more of a cliché?"

"I'm more than his assistant," she states.

Chelsea, Will's personal assistant of two years, cowers in the corner of our bedroom like a scared cat. She'd tried to cover her naked, five-foot-two body with the one thousand-thread count bedsheets I recently purchased at Saks Fifth Ave, but she failed, and all I can do is stare at her perfectly round bare breasts. Voluminous auburn hair cascades past her pale shoulders and down her slender back. Delicate clusters of freckles decorate her button nose, and her forest green eyes are cautious as she stares back at me.

It takes every ounce of control I have not to close the small distance between us and wrap my fingers around her skinny, fornicating neck.

"You're not allowed to speak," I say, my voice low and menacing, and unrecognizable even to me. "Ever."

"Sweetie, please let me explain. I messed up, okay? I know that, but if you would just listen to me for a minute –"

"No! I don't wanna hear anything you have to say. In fact, I want you to leave. I want you out. Now!"

I glance around our bedroom for the first time since I burst in and my vision blurs with tears. Our California King bed – that I made before I left for work since Will hates getting into an unmade bed – is torn apart. The decorative pillows we playfully argue over are strewn about the room. The fitted sheet has been pulled off completely and is laying in a heap at the foot of the bed, and the white, goose-down comforter is draped over the bedpost. Their clothes are all over the place, there's an empty condom wrapper on Will's nightstand and the lamp on the side where I sleep is on the floor – broken beyond repair.

"Actually, you know what, I'll leave," I say. I wipe the tears from my cheeks with my fingertips and dry them on the front of my dress, leaving streaks of mascara on the delicate fabric. "I can't...I can't be here. I can't be in this house right now. Not with you."

"Come on, sweetie. Where are you gonna go?"

"I'll go to Nico's."

"Absolutely not. If you go there and tell him what happened, he'll never let you come back. Just stay. Please," he begs. He steps in front of me, blocking the doorway so I can't get through, and takes my hands in his. His touch is warm and familiar, and when we lock eyes, I know we both can feel the fight in me beginning to weaken. "Just stay and we can talk about it. You're upset, and it's my fault, but I need to explain. Let me get her out of here and you and I will sit down and talk. Okay?"

I stare him down. His black boxer briefs rest low on his slender hips. His dirty blonde hair is a tangled mess, nothing like his usual, perfectly styled hairdo. Scratches on his bare chest and shoulders – put there, I can only assume, by the fingernails of his houseguest – are already fading. His full lips are red and swollen and there's pink lipstick smeared on his neck.

She's all over him.

I shake my head and chuckle sardonically as I look at my husband and wonder how the hell we got here. I thought we were happy.

"Fine. Take care of your guest and I'll meet you outside," I say. My stomach rolls with nausea. "I need some air."


Almost forty-five minutes later, I'm on the front steps of our once happy home as I wait for Will to come back from helping Chelsea catch a cab. She didn't put up much of a fight – not once I told her I'd skin her alive and use her hide as a rug if she didn't leave. The truth is though, I'm not solely mad at her. Yes, she knows he's married, but Will is handsome and charming, and when he's interested in you, his attention makes you feel like the luckiest girl in the world. He exudes power and importance, and he's the type of person that when he walks into a room, everyone takes notice, and you feel honored that someone like him is attracted to you. He has money and no problem flaunting how much. The deep dimples that dent his cheeks and his friendly, golden-brown eyes are enough to make any girl melt. I fell for it too, so I can't blame her.

Not entirely anyway.

"Quite a day, huh?" Will asks, as he sits down next to me.

"You could say that." I pick up the hem of my dress and begin gliding it between my fingers. "So, how long?"

"Sweetie, I don't wanna hurt you anymore than I already have. Can't we just –"

"Will, I came home from work today and found you in bed with another woman. The least you can do is explain it all to me." I rest my elbow on my knee and drop my chin in my hand. "I deserve the truth."

He rubs his hands together and stays quiet as he keeps his focus forward. Almost like it'll hurt him to look at me. Like he never meant for this to happen, and he knows once we make eye contact, it'll be real. But Will Anderson doesn't do anything he doesn't want to do, and I need to remember that if I'm going to get through this conversation with any dignity.

"It started in December."

"December?" I bark out a laugh. Not because any of this is funny, but because this has been going on behind my back for five months, and I feel like an idiot. "That was a month after our wedding."

"Yeah. It happened the first time at the Christmas party for the firm. I was upset because you couldn't make it to another work function. You promised you'd be there, and then bailed on me for, I don't know, your internship or something." He waves his hand in the air like my work isn't important – like I collect butterflies for a living. "I started drinking. Chelsea found me in my office, one thing led to another and before I knew it, we'd slept together."

My mind wanders back to that night. I'd gone into work early so I could leave in time to make it to the party but Calvin, my boss, had a deadline and it was either stay and help, or lose everything I'd been working toward for four years. I'd gotten home late, and I was exhausted. So, I took a hot shower, poured myself a glass of wine and was asleep thirty minutes later. When I woke up Will wasn't there, and from the look of the empty spot next to me, he hadn't made it home. I was worried sick. He'd never not come home before, so when he walked through the front door in one piece, I breathed a sigh of relief.

"You told me you stayed at Charlie's that night. That you went to his place after the party and passed out," I say. "Where did you really stay?"

He drags his hands down his face and scratches the back of his neck nervously. "I stayed at Chelsea's."

"Oh God." Bile rises in my throat, and I press the back of my hand against my mouth as I swallow it down. "I feel sick."

"It was only supposed to be one mistake, but we just kept finding ourselves alone together. Call it a coincidence, or a well thought out plan on her part, but she always seemed to be available when you weren't. First, it was the holiday party, and then drinks for my thirtieth birthday after you left early. Then we had the Legal Marketing Conference in March, the Bedlam Conference in April and the Atticus Summit a few weeks ago. I wanted you to come, but you had an excuse as to why you couldn't be at every single one of them. Chelsea was there. I tried to stop after that first time, but I couldn't. I was weak."

"You were weak?" I ask. "Sounds like you're trying to justify what you did."

"Believe what you want. It's the truth."

I run my fingers through my blonde curls and let out a shaky breath as I watch neighbors and New York City visitors walk down our busy street. At one time I thought my life was like theirs – A couple in love catching a cab for date night. Friends heading into the city for dinner and drinks. A guy and a girl out for a stroll on a warm, spring evening – but I'm quickly learning that it isn't the Hallmark movie I thought it was. It's more of a Lifetime Network nightmare.

"Why?" I ask.

"I don't wanna talk about this anymore," he says. He turns to me – finally making eye contact – and tucks my hair behind my ear. My body betrays me and goosebumps decorate my skin as his knuckles softly brush across my cheek. "Now that you know we can just move on and forget this ever happened."

"Forget it ever happened?" I push his hand away and wrap my arms around myself. "You slept with another woman. Tell me why, Will. Tell me why you cheated, or I swear to God I'll pack my bags and you'll never see me again. Now!"

"You're never home, Delaney! You spend all your time either at work or with Nico and Sloan. You're so focused on them and your work, it's like nothing and no one else exists. It's just an internship, and not even a good one."

I'm taken aback by his reasoning. He's the one who encouraged I take the low-ball offer in the first place, and now he's holding it against me?

He's got balls. Big, hypocritical, brass balls.

"Need I remind you it's an internship you urged me to take," I snap.

"I know, but I didn't think an internship would take up so much of your time. I come home to an empty house almost every night, and when I ask where you are, nine out of ten times you're still at work. I can't tell you how much Netflix I've watched over the past few months, or how much take-out I've eaten since you're never home to cook. When we got married, I thought I'd be coming home to my wife, a warm meal on the table, and then we'd spend our night together, but that's not how it's been."

I wrinkle my brow as I slowly turn my head to look at him. "It's the twenty-first century, Will. Women don't stay home anymore. Especially women who don't have kids. And I'm sorry to tell you this now, but I'll never be the woman who stays home and cleans all day in a hoop skirt, a set of pearls and a full face of make-up, with dinner on the table and a glass of bourbon in her hand as she waits for her husband to come home from work. I want a career. I've always wanted a career, and you knew that going into this marriage – this relationship."

"You're right," he agrees. "I guess I didn't know I wanted a life like that until I didn't have it."

I release a sigh of complete exasperation and tuck my hair behind my ears. "I don't understand. Do you want me to be a passive, little Stepford wife? Is that what you want?"

"No! Of course not."

"Then what, Will? I need you to tell me what to do here because I just...I don't know what you want from me."

"I thought my days of living like a single guy were over! I thought I had a partner for life, but this –" He gestures his finger between the two of us – "isn't what I thought marriage would be like. Us off doing our own thing all the time, barely spending any time together. This isn't what I pictured for my life. The worst part is though..." He rests his elbows on his knees and looks me dead in the eyes. "I feel like you have this whole other life that I'm not a part of. I'm – I'm lonely."

Wow, is this...is this all my fault?

His voice is thick with emotion, his eyes glassy with unshed tears, and it breaks my heart to know that the pain he's in and the loneliness he feels is because of me. We're in this situation because I'm selfish and I've been so wrapped up in my own life that I set him aside and haven't taken the time to show him how much I love and appreciate him. I can't blame anyone but myself for the fact that he felt the need to seek attention from another woman, because it's all my fault.

I got my internship at Posh Magazine a little over four years ago. Will and I were financially set when I was offered the position and he convinced me to take the offer, as it would be a good idea to start as an intern and earn their trust while I work my way up the journalism chain. It's unpaid, and although it's been more of me getting coffee, picking up my bosses dry-cleaning and making reservations for business dinners that I know are actually dates, working at the up-and-coming fashion magazine has been a dream come true.

But is a dream worth it if you hurt the people you love along the way?

"Will, I'm...I'm sorry," I whisper. I drop my tear-filled eyes to my hands as I anxiously twist my gorgeous two carat, Oval Halo Tiffany & Co engagement ring around my finger. "I never meant to hurt you. I understand why you're lonely, and I know I'm to blame, but you should have talked to me about it instead of sleeping with someone else. You should have come to me with your concerns. We could have figured it out together."

He leans back and places his hand on my thigh. "I'm sorry too. You were never supposed to find out this way. I planned on telling you eventually."

"Eventually?" I ask. I chuckle condescendingly. "How considerate of you."

"You know what I mean."

"I'm not sure I want to know the answer to this, but do..." I inhale sharply and wipe the snot from my nose with the back of my hand. "Do you love her?"

Will's shoulders slump as he lets out a heavy – almost defeated – sigh and drops his chin to his chest.

I've always believed that Will is easy to read because his eyes are so expressive. I know when he's happy and when he's sad, when he's just a little annoyed and when he's completely irate. I know when he's excited because their golden-brown color deepens to a rich, shaded, almost gingerbread undertone, and they crinkle in the corners when he smiles. I know he's concentrating when he closes his left eye and wrinkles his nose, and when he's turned on, they're almost black. I've spent the last seven years with him, and I know if he would just look at me, I'd have the answer to my question, but if today has taught me anything, it's that I may not know my husband as well as I think I do.

My heart is pounding. I stare at Will's perfect profile as I anticipate his answer, but the longer we sit in silence, the more I feel like I may spontaneously combust. My breath bursts through my parted lips in hard, unsteady gusts, and just as I open my mouth to tell him to forget I asked, he turns to me and frowns.

"I don't know," he says. "Maybe I – it's just...it's complicated. I love you, Delaney. If you don't believe anything else I've said today, please believe that. I don't know what I feel for Chelsea, or if it's real, but what I do know is that I want to stay married to you. So, whatever I need to do to fix this, I'll do it."

I sniffle. "Okay, so, what do we do now?"

"I have no idea. I'm just...I'm

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