Chapter Two

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"He did what?" Nico shouts.

After Will told me he needed space, I decided the best thing for me to do was leave. Right then and there. So, with as much strength as I could muster, I quickly packed a bag, texted Nico to let him know I was coming over, and walked away from the man I love, and thought was my forever – the man I'm not sure is mine at all anymore.

I know leaving was the right thing, and I'm glad I made the decision on my own before he asked me to, but I'm still torn on how to feel. Half of me is so angry at him. Angry, not just because he broke our wedding vows and slept with another woman, but because he brought her into our home – our bed – and because instead of being honest with me about how he was feeling, he took the easy way out and found a distraction. This all could have been avoided had he just told me the truth.

The other half is completely heartbroken. When I think about the fact that my husband has been with someone else - that he's touched her body, and kissed her, and has been inside of her - I feel physically nauseous. It hurts to know he cheated. It hurts more to know it's been an ongoing thing, and that he might have feelings for her. But what hurts the most is that he didn't respect or trust me enough to open up to me, and if you don't have trust and respect, do you have a relationship at all?

It's true that I've been putting in a lot of hours at the magazine. I have to if I want a permanent position that pays, and in turn, that's made me a bit of an absentee wife. He's right when he says I've had an excuse as to why I couldn't make it to certain functions, but they weren't excuses, they were legitimate reasons. As a person whose gone through years of law school, become a sought out criminal defense attorney, and made partner by the time he turned thirty, I thought he understood the concept behind hard work dedication.

"Can I stay here for a few days?"

"Love, you know you don't need to ask." He opens his front door wider and gives me a soft smile. "Get your cute ass in here."

"Thanks."

I walk through the door and drop my bag, and as soon as I do, he wraps his long arms around me and pulls me into his chest. I grip the back of his t-shirt in my fists, breathing in his comforting scent of pine and laundry detergent, and let out a shaky sigh.

Nico Simone is the first person I met when I moved to New York. I was eighteen, fresh out of a small suburb in North Carolina and completely out of my element, and after he saved me from a near death experience, we went for coffee and started talking. It was like I'd known him my whole life. We're different in so many ways, but he's the balance in my life when I need it, and the best friend I've ever had.

"What can I do?" he asks. "Do you want me to kick his ass? Give him a black eye and fuck up that pretty face of his? Oh! I could ask Dean at Manhattan Mocha to put a little laxative in his morning coffee so he shits himself while in the middle of an important meeting or a trial. That could be fun."

I force a laugh as I rest my chin on his chest and look into his familiar, light-brown eyes. "Tell me you have bourbon."

"Do you even know me at all?" he teases. He stares at me adoringly and kisses the tip of my nose. "Go set yourself up in the guest room and I'll pour you a glass. I already ordered us take-out. Sloan's gonna pick it up on her way home."

"You're my hero."

"And don't you forget it," he responds, smirking.

Nico is – what I kindly remind him of almost monthly – a trust fund baby. His family is originally from Staten Island, but they moved to Manhattan when his father was offered a job as an anesthesiologist attending at New York Presbyterian Hospital. He went to a fancy private school, had a closet full of designer labels, and when his maternal grandfather – who'd run an extremely successful financial investment company – passed away when he was sixteen, he was gifted with a disgusting amount of money. His parents were afraid he'd spend it all in one place, so they set up a trust fund he could access the day after he graduated college, much to his chagrin.

So, once he was finally granted access to his trust, he purchased a three-bedroom, two-bathroom penthouse apartment on Fifth Avenue in Manhattan. It's everything you imagine a New York City penthouse would be. High ceilings. Open floor plan. A beautiful, all-white kitchen with a large island, marble countertops and every high-end appliance money can buy. A gas-burning, stone fireplace not only in the spacious living room, but in all three bedrooms and the master bath. Floor to ceiling windows that give way to the most incredible view of New York City. Access to a fully equipped gym, a pool, and a rooftop deck with a firepit and the most comfortable chaise lounges I've ever laid on. He asked me to move in when he bought it – rent free – but I still had a year of school left. I'd also just started dating Will and I didn't think he'd be okay with me moving in with a guy he barely knew.

It's easily a six-million-dollar apartment, but I guess when you have no student loans and more money than you know what to do with, six million is pocket change.

After I change into a tank-top and some pajama shorts, I sneak into Nico's bedroom and pull his worn-in New York Knicks sweatshirt over my head and make my way into the living room. I pull my blonde hair into a messy bun as the pads of my bare feet slap against the Brazilian Cherry hardwood floors, and I freeze when I see the spread set up on the white marble coffee table.

"Guys," I say. I place the palms of my hands on my cheeks and smile. "What did you do?"

"We got all your favorites," Sloan, Nico's roommate and best friend since middle school, announces. Her sky-blue eyes sparkle and her long, naturally wavy, dark brown hair swings in its ponytail as she bounces up and down on her toes. "I got you shrimp lo mein and two egg rolls since I know you like to eat them cold the next morning. I also picked up a bag of Haribo gummi bears, and before you ask, yes, I looked for the bag with the most red ones. There's a brand-new handle of Makers Mark and a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream in the freezer."

"I also have Hulu set up on the tv. I hope you're ready because we are about to dive deep into a Snapped marathon," Nico adds, as he wraps his arms around my shoulders from behind and rests his chin on the top of my head. "Women murdering their significant others is going to be cathartic."

"I'm gonna be so sick tomorrow." I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, but I can't fight the smile that spreads across my face. "This is not part of my vegan diet."

"Oh, please. You're as much of a vegan as I am. In fact, didn't we both get bacon on our Shake Shack burgers just yesterday?" he asks. I tilt my head and look up at him sheepishly. "Exactly. Fuck your vegan diet and fuck Will for making you eat like that."

I smile at my two best friends. It's been a horrible day – the worst I've had since I was eighteen – and they've been here without me having to ask. The last thing I want is for them to think I'm ungrateful.

"Thank you, guys. Seriously. I really..." I wipe the tears from my cheeks with the sleeve of Nico's sweatshirt. "I needed this."

Nico hugs me tighter and presses a kiss against my temple. "Now, we're gonna get shit-faced, eat until we can't anymore and you're gonna tell us what happened."

He takes my hand and pulls me over to the couch. I settle into the corner of his brown leather sectional, tucking my legs underneath me, as he covers me with a cream-colored, cable knit blanket and places a take-out container of lo mein in one hand and a pair of chopsticks in the other.

"Babe, what happened?" Sloan asks.

I poke at the lo mein and swallow around the lump in my throat. "He – um...he's having an affair. With his assistant."

Even though I've succumbed to the truth, and saw it with my own eyes, the words sound like a foreign language coming out of my mouth.

"Wait a second..." Nico slurps a chow mein noodle into his mouth. It splashes his chin, leaving tiny brown dots behind. He's the only person I know who can eat take-out six nights a week and still have abs like a Calvin Klein model. "How do you know? Maybe it's not what you think it is. Maybe it's all just a misunderstanding."

Nico Simone, ladies, and gentlemen. His glass is perpetually half full.

"It's not a misunderstanding when you catch them in the act," I say.

Sloan's jaw drops and Nico stops mid-chew and stares at me. I set my uneaten lo mein on the coffee table and pick up my tumbler of bourbon, downing it like a shot as I give them time for my statement to sink in.

"Fucking motherfucker!" Sloan growls. She slams her chopsticks down on the coffee table. "I knew there was a reason I always hated Will. He's a fuck boy, and what do I always say? Never do wifey shit for a fuck boy!"

"Sloan, you can't say that," Nico says.

"Why not? It's the truth."

"What if they get back together? Then she'll have to be with him knowing you've always hated him."

"He cheated on her!" she exclaims.

Nico sighs. "Sloan, it's scientifically proven that ninety percent of women go back to the man that cheated on them. It's easier than starting over."

"Where the hell did you hear that nonsense?"

"I forget," he says, shrugging. "I think I saw it on Reddit, or like, Vanderpump Rules or something."

"She won't get back together with him," Sloan states, matter-of-factly. "

My eyes bounce between them like I'm watching a tennis match as I listen to them talk about me as if I'm not sitting right next to them. As if I'm not even in the room.

"Hello...hi," I say. I wave my hand in the air to get their attention. "I'm right here."

They both give me a soft smile when they look at me and tilt their heads in the same direction – simultaneously. Sometimes they're so similar, I think they're twins who've been separated at birth.

"Tell us exactly what happened, sprout."

My heart warms at the nickname Nico gave me when we first became friends. He stands at an overwhelming six-foot-six, and with me barely hitting five-foot-seven, he's always said he feels like the Jolly Green Giant and I'm his trusty sidekick, Sprout. One time, he even said he felt like he was babysitting instead of hanging out with his best friend.

"I got the news from Calvin today –"

"Wait, is Calvin the guy that bothers you?" Sloan asks.

"You mean the guy that grabs her ass and pretends like he doesn't do it on purpose? The guy who runs the magazine and makes all the final decisions, including who gets hired? The guy I've wanted to punch in the dick for the last four years?" Nico's large hands curl into tight fists and the vein that protrudes in his neck when he's angry begins to thicken. "Yeah, that's him."

The corners of my lips turn up in an appreciative smile, and I place my hand on his taut forearm.

"He offered me the chance to write an article for the magazine. Something about urban New York fashion. It's the first he's given me to show my talent, and I was excited to tell Will about it, but when I got home, I found them together. I thought we were being robbed at first – with all the commotion – but when I got upstairs, Will was rushing to get dressed and she was just standing there, all red hair, and perfect curves, looking like the cover of a damn erotica novel. He tried to convince me it wasn't what it looked like, but..." I shrug and rest my head on the back of the couch. Tears coat my eyes, but I quickly shake them away. I don't want to start crying because I know once I do, I won't be able to stop. "It's kind of hard to do that when found naked with another woman, who is also naked, in a room that reeks of sex. There was an empty condom wrapper on his nightstand, so I guess I should be grateful he at least had the decency to use protection."

Nico's cheeks puff as he lets out a slow, controlled breath. He drops his elbows on his knees and covers his mouth with his hands. In all the years I've known Nico, I've never seen him speechless.

Sloan silently lifts her wine glass to her lips, emptying it, before she stands up and heads into the kitchen.

"I'm gonna...yeah. I'm definitely gonna need more wine for this," she says.

"I don't – I just...I'm in shock. I don't even know what to say right now." He grabs my empty glass, but just as he goes to refill it, I grab the Makers Mark from his hand and take a long sip straight from the bottle. He watches me with wide eyes for a second or two, before the corners of his lips turn down and he nods in agreement. "I can't believe he did this. It doesn't sound like him at all. Do you think he's having a mid-life crisis or something?"

"No." I wipe a drop of bourbon from my chin with the back of my hand. "Besides, he's only thirty. Mid-life crises don't usually happen until a man is, like, forty or fifty. Right?"

He shrugs as he takes the bottle from my hand and takes a sip.

"I don't wanna be the one to put this thought into your head," Sloan says, as she walks back into the living room with a freshly opened bottle of red wine. "But do you think-"

"It's not the first time," I interrupt, already knowing what she was going to ask. "It's been going on since December."

"December?" they both ask at the same time.

I nod and take another long swig.

"So, what happens now? Are you gonna try and work it out? Go to therapy? Do you even want to? I mean, can you ever trust him again?" Nico asks.

"If I had the answers to your questions I wouldn't be drinking bourbon straight from the bottle."

"I'd like to know what he had to say for himself," Sloan says. "You already said he tried to deny it, but is he sorry? And I mean actually sorry, not just sorry because he got caught."

I roll my lips into my mouth as I contemplate Sloan's question. I wish I could say I'm certain – without a single doubt in my mind – that he meant it when he said he planned on telling me, that he never meant for things between them to go further than that first night and that he's sorry he hurt me, but I'm not.

I'm not certain of anything anymore.

I sigh and poke around at my lo mein again, but after all this "what are you going to do?" and "Can you ever trust him again?" talk, my appetite is non-existent. The smell alone is enough to turn my stomach and cause bile to scorch my throat.

"He says he is, but how can I be sure?" I close the take-out container and hand it to Nico. He eyes me disapprovingly but takes it from my hands and starts digging into it himself. "I mean, he said he wants to stay married, and that that he'll do anything to fix it, but in the next breath he's telling me he needs space to see if what he feels for her is real. For all I know, she's at the house right now helping him "figure it out" and making space in my closet for her own stuff."

"I know what he did is fucked up, and I could honestly kill him wight now and have no remorse about it whatsoever, but I doubt he'd wun wight to hew," he says through a mouthful of egg roll. I reach out and wipe a crumb from his bottom lip with my thumb. "Did you tell him about the article?"

"Um..." I look away – unable to bear the disappointment I know I'm about to see in his eyes – and twist my engagement ring around my finger like a worry stone. "No."

"Why not?"

"Gee, I don't know, Nic. Between catching my husband in bed with another woman and then finding out it's been going on since our wedding, I didn't really get the chance," I say, my voice heavy with annoyance. "And now it doesn't matter."

Nico sighs and puts my food down, tucking his thick, shaggy blonde hair behind his ears, and turns to me. His eyes are hard and determined as they stare into mine, but they soften when I wipe a tear from the corner of my eye and sniffle back a cry.

"Sprout, you have to write this article. This is the opportunity you've been waiting for. Not writing it would just be stupid. And you and I..." He stretches his arm across the space between us and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "We don't do stupid things."

My lips turn up into a mischievous grin.

"Oh really?" I ask, teasingly. I rest against the back of the couch and cross my arms over my chest. "So, that tramp stamp was one of your smarter decisions?"

Nico has a few tattoos – Where there is no struggle, there is no strength on the left side of his ribcage. The purpose of our lives is to be happy on his back above his right shoulder blade. Our matching XO with a heart on the inside of both our right wrists – but it's the tattoo above his ass crack of a stick figure with a thought bubble that reads I'm here forever that's questionable.

I tried to talk him out of it, but we'd had way too much tequila, and there's no convincing Nico that something is a bad idea once tequila is involved.

"Don't change the subject." He takes my hands in his and squeezes them lightly, yet encouragingly. "You can't let him take this away from you."

I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and sigh.

As usual, Nico is right. This opportunity – the chance to write an article for such a well-known magazine – is what I've been working toward for the last four years. Hell, it's what I've been working toward since college. If I say no, Calvin will assume I'm not interested and may never give me another chance. But if I say yes, I'll be writing while in a hazy and distracted headspace, which will result in me turning in a sloppy, unclear, half-assed piece, and I've worked way too hard to let that happen.

I know I shouldn't let Will or what happened today ruin this for me, but if I can't put one hundred percent of myself into the job, I don't want it.

"Can we talk about something else, please?" I ask. I close my eyes and rub my temples with the tips of my fingers. "I need to get the visual of them naked out of my mind, and if we keep talking about it, I'm not gonna be able to do that."

"Fine," Nico groans. "But you should really eat something. At the rate you're emptying that bottle of bourbon you need food in your stomach to soak it up. If not, you're gonna have a wicked hangover in the morning."

"My husband has been fucking a slutty, big-breasted, Jessica Rabbit wannabe, who he may or may not be in love with might I add, behind my back for the last five months. A hangover is the least of my problems." I throw the blanket off me and stand up. "I think I'm just gonna take a shower and go to bed."

"Are you sure?" Sloan asks. "We don't have to talk. We can just watch Snapped. Or, I have the first four seasons of This Is Us on DVD if you wanna have a good cry."

I do want to have a good, ugly cry, but I want to do it alone in the shower where no one can see or hear me.

"I'm so tired. I just really wanna go to sleep," I say. I smile so they know how much I appreciate all they've done for me tonight. "Thank you for being here for me. I love you guys."

"To the moon and back," Nico answers. It's the response he

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