That’s all it was, Eliza reminded herself, shaking off the creeping feeling of guilt. It was healthy actually. Good to air out their problems in the trusted company of friends. It was only the four of them after all. Who would they tell?
Anne and Penny had long since gone home but would be back shortly. Their task for the evening ahead was to pepper Marguerite with softball questions she could hit out of the park to impress the social media influencers in the audience. Also in attendance would be several booksellers and a few librarians—whoever Eliza could lure into her home with the promise of a meet and greet with the author and a complimentary glass of wine. And a photographer of course. Marguerite’s choice.
The author had left Eliza’s home after their earlier session to spend her day at a nearby salon getting her hair touched up, her mani and pedi refreshed, and a facial that would leave her natural complexion glowing. It’d cost as much as the catering.
Eliza headed upstairs to shower, but when she reached the landing, she paused. Something was wrong; she just couldn’t put her finger on what. A sizzle in the air? Her closed bedroom door? She couldn’t remember the last time she’d closed her door. Eliza and Roman lived alone. They had no need for privacy.
She moved closer, listening. Her shoulders tensed at a shuffle from inside.
Eliza had just raised a hand to turn the knob when she heard it—distinct, this time. A low groan, then a female voice. Nothing muffled about it. There was a woman in Eliza’s bedroom, and she wasn’t alone.
Eliza’s first inclination was to back away. She hesitated, took a quiet step toward the staircase. But she stopped as a wave of indignation crashed over her. She refused to be intimidated out of her own bedroom. With a stubborn twist of the handle, Eliza threw the door open.
Deep down, Eliza knew the gist of what she’d find. She’d been preparing for this moment for a long time, she realized as she gathered her wits in the hallway. Now that it was actually happening and she was confronted with an affair in the flesh, Eliza expected to feel many things as she stepped through the door. She just hadn’t expected to be rendered speechless.
“Eliza!” Roman’s voice rolled off his tongue, smooth and buttery, the moment he saw her. “We didn’t expect you home so soon.”
“We.” Eliza coughed, struggling to recover her wits. “We?”
She gave a shake of her head, her tongue feeling heavy, leaden. Her body sank into numbness, complete from head to toe. She was a dead weight. If someone threw her into the ocean, she’d sink straight to the bottom. She’d be dead before she even thought about swimming.
“I’m surprised we didn’t know I’d be home,” Eliza said, fighting to regain some semblance of calmness, “seeing as we were scheduled to be downstairs in twenty minutes.”
A set of long, thin legs were wrapped around her husband’s bare torso, the splash of frizzy hair against the pillow all too familiar. Eliza caught sight of bare breasts and refused to avert her eyes. Spaghetti-thin straps of lace swirled around the smooth skin of the woman’s stomach, a touch of expensive, classy lingerie in an unclassy setting.
“Marguerite.” Eliza addressed her client crisply. “I don’t think it’s necessary for you to attend book club tonight. In fact, the event is canceled. Unfortunately, you came down with a nasty, nasty stomach bug.”
“But—”
“Also, our contract is terminated. I won’t utter a word of this little indiscretion to anyone in the industry so long as you pay me in full for the agreed-upon campaign. Our professional relationship is over.”
“It’s not like that!” Marguerite scrambled to sit up in bed. “Roman said you were separated.”
Eliza blinked, raised a hand, and flashed her wedding band. “Does it look like we’re separated?”
Marguerite pulled away from Roman, casting him an uncertain look. “You’ve been saying the divorce papers were just waiting for a signature.”
“I see.” Eliza blinked with understanding. “That’s how you get away with it. Is that what you told the others, too?”
“You knew about the others?” Marguerite’s voice rose, and she swiveled her head between Roman and Eliza. “And you didn’t do anything about it?”
“You’re the first fling he’s brought to our home,” Eliza said. “So that’s something. Congratulations. I have to say, though, I’m surprised. I always thought you hated Roman. Wanted me to leave him. Now I see why. You just wanted him for yourself.”
“It’s not like that.” Marguerite’s hands twisted around the sheets. “This was all… I was doing this to help you, Eliza.”
“To help me?”
“You never seemed happy in your marriage! Roman was holding you back. I told you that, but you never did anything about it. I was just forcing you to take control of your life.”
“What was your grand plan? Flirt with my husband in front of me? Or did you plan on going the whole nine yards from the very start?”
“Things got out of hand.”
“I’ll say.”
“Roman told me—”
“He lies, Marguerite,” Eliza said. “That’s what you were trying to prove to me. And you sure accomplished that.”
“So why haven’t you left him already?”
“Because I’m married to him. And it’s none of your business.”
“It wasn’t supposed to end this way,” Marguerite said. “You were supposed to see that Roman doesn’t deserve you. Except—”
“Except instead of screwing him over,” Eliza said, “you just screwed him.”
Through their whole exchange, Roman watched the two women quizzically. As if he wasn’t quite sure what was happening. Almost as if he was wondering if he’d gotten away with the whole thing.
“I also happen to suspect that he got one of his students pregnant,” Eliza continued. “Did he mention anything about that? Nice girl, too. Penny. Pretty Penny. You sat in the same room with her earlier this afternoon. In fact, if my math is accurate, your launch party might be the very night they conceived this poor child. Am I correct, Roman, or was that another time?”
“Pregnant?” Marguerite’s voice was a feeble whimper.
The faint echo of the doorbell resounded downstairs. Eliza tilted her head to listen, then thumbed over her shoulder. “As a matter of fact, that’s probably Penny. I asked her to come early to help set up.”
“You have to listen to me,” Marguerite pleaded.
“I don’t have to do much of anything.” Eliza shrugged, feeling a great weight lift from her shoulders. “But my offer stands. I don’t think the self-help world would appreciate a story about their beloved guru found sleeping with a man who was not only married but who had recently knocked up one of his students.”
“Please, I’ll do anything. Don’t ruin me.”
“This isn’t about you,” Eliza said. “This has never been about you. All I want is the money we agreed upon for the entire year. That’s it. Then you can consider our relationship terminated.”
“That’s blackmail,” Marguerite said. “This isn’t my fault!”