“Well, I have to pay a sitter every time I leave the house these days since Mark is hardly around, and I can’t afford that, so… I suppose you could swing by for coffee if you’re bored, but you’ll have to take an aspirin to avoid a headache with how screechy the twins have been lately.”
“Sounds relaxing,” Eliza said. “Maybe you should hire a babysitter more. You liked that Penny, didn’t you?”
“Yes, thanks again,” Anne said, warming to the topic as Eliza had hoped she would. “That woman has been a lifesaver. But she still costs money.”
“What do you think about her?” Eliza asked. “As a person?”
“Who, Penny?”
Eliza nodded.
“I don’t know. She seems great with the kids. She doesn’t pry, doesn’t ask too many questions. I think she steals some of our food, but hey, better she eat our old Doritos than me. My ass doesn’t need the carbs.”
“She steals food? Isn’t that”—Eliza hesitated—“wrong?”
“I dunno,” Anne said. “I tell her to help herself to anything in the fridge or pantry. I just figured, you know, she probably didn’t mow through an entire family-sized pack of chips at once, which means she probably shoved the bag in her purse or something. Who cares? She’s broke.”
“Most people in Roman’s classes are,” Eliza said dryly. “Nature of the business.”
“Why do you ask?” Anne pressed. “I’m not mad at you or anything for the referral. I’ll sacrifice a bag of chips any day for a woman who’s good with the kids and doesn’t charge an arm and a leg to watch them.”
“No reason.”
“Bullshit,” Anne called. “You always have a reason. Did Penny say something to Roman about us? For Pete’s sake, did Mark try to get her to tattle on me, too?”
“Tattle on you?”
“Forget it,” Anne said. “Why do you care about Penny?”
Eliza glanced upward at the hotel, noting the open balconies, the couples lounging on their private terraces, the soft clink of silverware from overhead as hotel guests enjoyed their breakfasts. Is my husband one of them? Eliza wondered. Is Penny?
“I’ve found some receipts,” Eliza admitted. “Receipts for rooms at the Pelican Hotel.”
“You’re kidding me.” Anne tipped her glasses all the way off her face and squinted upward.
For a moment, Eliza wondered if her friend would shout out Roman’s name to the rooftop. Eliza wasn’t sure she’d have stopped her if she did, but eventually, Anne turned her attention back to earth as the server appeared with two large lattes frothed to perfection.
“I hate to say I’m not surprised,” Anne said with extra snap to her voice. “But frankly, I wouldn’t put it past Roman.”
“You’ve never liked him,” Eliza said. “You didn’t give him a chance.”
“Did he deserve one?” Anne asked pointedly, then reached for her coffee and took a big sip.
Eliza knew Anne had never been the biggest fan of Roman’s, but it’d always been sort of a passive thing before. An echo in the dark. A subtle comment here or there. Much slyer than Marguerite Hill’s more overwhelming jabs to get rid of her husband, stat. But this morning, Anne had no shame as she spoke ill of Roman. Eliza only wondered if it was because of the potential affair or something else.
“I won’t argue with you on that,” Eliza said. “But I have to wonder if it’s one of his students.”
“You think it’s Penny?” Anne considered, then frowned and shook her head. “No way. The girl’s way too innocent.”
“You said she steals your food.”
“She took a bag of chips,” Anne said. “Honestly, the valet prices here are worse theft than whatever Penny’s capable of.”
“It’s a slippery slope,” Eliza said.
“Do you have any reason to suspect it’s Penny?”
Eliza thought back to the night of the book launch party for Marguerite Hill. The key card, the quiet looks, the elevator. The fact that Roman had been late coming home—if he came home at all—over the last few weeks. Ever since the stupid loan from his parents.
“Besides the fact that she’s sweet, pretty, and, you know, otherwise adorable?” Anne prompted. “I don’t think it’s Penny. Could it be someone else?”
“It could be,” Eliza murmured.
It’s not, she thought, looking up again. A charge was pending from the Pelican Hotel from last night on Roman’s credit card. Eliza wondered if he was trying to hide it at all anymore or if he just didn’t care.
“I know this sucks,” Anne said. “Believe me, I know how you’re feeling right now. But it’s just an affair.”
“Just an affair? You almost died when you found out Mark was having an affair—not that I blame you. But what changed?”
“There are things worse than affairs,” Anne said cryptically. “I got over it. Whatever. And I hate to break it to you, but I think this was a long time coming. Roman only married you for your money.”
“He married me because he loved me.” Eliza lowered her voice.
“Sure, sure,” Anne said with a roll of her eyes. “He likes to play the hero and say he married you so you could stay in the country, but that’s all an act. You were set up to make one of the fattest salaries out of your graduating class. You don’t think Roman could see the writing on the wall? He knew his parents were cutting him off financially after college. He knew you’d be able to pick up the torch and carry on providing for him.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Eliza said, though she’d wondered the same thing a million times. She just hadn’t wondered it aloud.
“He’s smart—when he wants to be,” Anne said. “He knew you’d feel indebted to him after the quickie ceremony. He made himself out to be a martyr, but it was all an act so you’d put up with him acting like a jerk for the rest of your life.”
“And how do you know this?”
“Because I’m on the outside looking in,” Anne said. “Don’t tell me I’m the only person who doesn’t like your husband.”
Eliza thought back to her wedding day. The very day Roman’s own mother had warned her about him. She thought to Marguerite and how the bestselling author seemed to have a vendetta against him, too. Eliza had always explained away the latter by blaming Marguerite’s concerns on her overall attitude about men: one of skepticism and distrust. But maybe she’d been wrong.
“It’s not your fault.” Anne melted, letting down her victorious front in exchange for a more sympathetic one. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to come off that way. I’m sorry this happened to you. But honestly, I wouldn’t put anything past Roman.”
“What’d he do to you?” Eliza retorted, somewhat annoyed that Anne suddenly seemed to think she knew more about Roman than Eliza herself. “When have you ever initiated a conversation with Roman outside of a dinner party where I made the two of you talk?”
“This isn’t a competition,” Anne said. “You invited me here. You asked for my opinion. Roman’s the bad guy here, not me.”