When she got to the hotel, she was glad the company Brody was working for was picking up the tab. The place was gorgeous. It had to be four or five stars for sure. Too expensive for their budget, it sat directly on a huge stretch of white sand beach. It featured a beautiful tropical area that surrounded a swimming pool, and the luxury inside the lobby was breathtaking.
When Ashley went to the front desk to ask for a key to Brody Gage’s room, they gave her a hard time at first. But once she showed them proof that she was indeed his wife and had come all the way from Vermont to surprise him just for the weekend, they were very cordial.
“We’ll send up a courtesy bottle of bubbly and some fruit. I’m truly sorry for the misunderstanding, Mrs. Gage,” the manager said, bowing his head and directing a porter to take her one piece of luggage to their room.
She smiled back warmly at him and said, “Thank you. My husband and I will so much appreciate your kindness.” I can sound like Professor Harris when I want to myself, she thought.
When she got to the room and slipped in the key, it only opened a bit because the safety chain held it back.
“Surprise, Brody, it’s me, Ashley, open up, hon.” She turned then to the porter and gave him a tip. “I’ll take it from here. Thank you.” He tipped his hat and left.
“Just a minute,” Brody yelled, “I’m coming.”
She could hear the sound of him slipping into his pants and hooking his belt buckle and then the pounding of his feet on the floor and the unchaining of the door, but he only opened it a bit.
“What are you doing here?”
“Surprising you! I thought you’d be pleased. Let me in. I’m not standing out here.” She pushed on the door then, and he pushed back, but relented, and she almost fell when the door gave way, but he caught her by the arm just in time to stop her fall.
“What the hell?” she said. There sitting on the one king-sized bed was Douglas Schmitt, her creepy neighbor, in the same room with her husband.
She turned then and slapped Brody in the face.
“Ashley, I can explain.”
She slapped him again. “Don’t bullshit me. You came down here to be with, with, with Douglas. You couldn’t take me. Oh, no. Too busy. Too much work. The client. Is there even a client? Was this all just an excuse to be with that?” she screamed.
“Ashley, keep your voice down. The manager will throw us out.”
“Let’s hope the hell they throw him out,” she said. Then she dropped into an overstuffed chair that sat in the corner and held her head in her hands. She was sobbing uncontrollably.
Douglas, who had yet to say a single word, got dressed and walked out of the room leaving them to deal with the situation for themselves.
Chapter Five
“Brody, how could you?” Ashley shrieked, as she finally looked up at him from where she sat.
He stood and towered over her. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what? That you got caught? That you’re having sex with our neighbor—a man? That you lied to me about this being a business trip when you came here to be with, with Dougie? What exactly are you sorry about?”
His body crumbled to the floor then, and she almost thought he’d passed out, but he hadn’t. He sat cross legged in front of her and took her hands in his.
“Don’t touch me,” she whispered and pulled her hands away.
“I’m sorry about all of it. That I’ve had to hide who I really am from you all this time, that you had to find out this way, that I lied, and that you’re so upset. You don’t deserve this. I love you, Ashley.”
“That’s bullshit!”
“I do. You’re my best friend. We share so much in common. You said it just the other day, how mellow our relationship is and how right we are for each other. We’ve made a home together. I want that. Don’t you?”
She stood up then and paced the room, pulling open the draperies that covered the spectacular view of the beach. What a perfect vacation spot this would have been for them, she thought. What now? She paced some more. She couldn’t look him in the eyes. Six years they’d been married and not once had she had any idea of his bisexuality, his cheating, any of it. How foolish, how blind she had been.
“Talk to me, Ashley, please,” he begged.
“We’re over,” she spit the words out to him, picked up her bag, and slammed the door behind her. As she turned left into the hallway, she ran straight into a porter who was delivering champagne and a bowl of fruit on a trolley.
“Sorry,” she said.
“No, ma’am, my fault entirely,” he answered and tipped his head to her.
“Ashley, don’t leave,” Brody shouted to her as she ran to the elevator.
She paid an upcharge to change her flight for the only available seat, which was in first class, so that she could leave immediately. She wanted no part of the “Magic City” of Miami. There was no magic to be had there. Instead of a quiet, sexy, getaway with the man she loved and who she thought loved her, she’d been slapped in the face with the truth about him—that everything about him, everything about their relationship was a lie.
Why? Did he not want to come out of the closet? That shouldn’t be a problem today with a gay man openly running for president of the United States. Perhaps, he was truly bisexual and wanted it all. Well, she didn’t want any part of that. They’d taken vows in church before family and friends and promised to cherish and love only each other for as long as they each lived. She wasn’t sharing him with anyone. Another lie from him. Tears streamed unabated down her face as the years they’d spent together flashed before her.
Their honeymoon in Barbados was so romantic and so much fun snorkeling and scuba diving, hiking, and zip lining. They tried everything. They danced and drank all night and made love into the wee hours of the morning, yet still had adrenaline to keep them up and moving to see and do new things all day long. Every minute should count, they thought. It was the best week of her life.
Once they were home, they settled into a comfortable routine with him being the house husband and her taking off to whichever project she was commissioned to work on, with him working from home. He kept the house clean and cooked. She did laundry and cared for the garden and lawn. Except for cooking, Brody never liked to get his hands dirty. Should that have tipped her off? No. Many guys she knew were like that.
Sitting in the window seat, she used tissue after tissue to wipe her tears and muffle the sound of her sobs.
“Are you okay?” the guy sitting next to her asked. His baritone voice startled her; she hadn’t even noticed that he’d boarded the plane since she was so lost in her misery. When she looked closely, she realized she must have been totally engrossed in her thoughts not to notice. He was large enough to take up most of the extra wide seat, and his arm muscles made him look like he worked out lifting trucks rather than weights. He wasn’t fat anywhere, just large, toned, tight, and huge. His T-shirt revealed tattoos that covered both arms. His nose seemed just off center, but his eyes were large and dark chocolate brown.
“Yes, I’m fine. Thank you,” she answered and sniffled into the last of the tissues she had in her purse, so she picked up the paper napkin the flight attendant had given her with her screwdriver and used that to blow her nose.