Page 70 of Saving Ian Pope

“He’s never given you any reason to doubt him? Hiding his phone, working late.”

“N-no.” I sealed my lips and proceeded to shred a napkin to bits in my lap.

“You don’t sound so confident anymore.” Chloe whistled. “Hang on. Why’d you call me at five o’clock in the morning?”

“Six.”

“Spill.”

“Ian confessed to me that he relapsed when we were apart—but just twice. He’s back on track.” Now it was my turn to beat around the bush.

“Okay, well that’s not unusual, and that’s why you went out there. You suspected he might be spiraling without you. He’s good now?”

“Doing great.” I gathered the mangled pieces of napkin and dumped them on the table. “We went to the recording studio yesterday, which is why I’m at the British Museum.”

“You’re at the British Museum right now? Did you see the mummies?”

“No, I’m here for some exhibition.” I drew in a long breath. “Anyway, after the session yesterday, we went to his bachelor pad in London.”

“He has a bachelor pad? Uh-oh. Fuck-buddy central.”

“Stop. But, yeah, it’s stark and modern and sterile. Anyway, I found a puddle of whiskey in a glass in the bedroom and a bottle of champagne in the fridge, so I put two and two together, and he confirmed that’s where he relapsed.”

“Alright. Where is this going, Ivy? Is that where he asked to pee on you?”

“Enough with the pee.” I rubbed my chin. Did I want to open the floodgates here? “After I left this morning, I also found a pair of women’s black panties under the bed.”

Silence echoed over the line. “Chloe?”

“That cheating SOB. He boozed it up, banged some chick, and now he’s on BlueFin making perverted requests.”

“I don’t think so, Chloe. Iknowhe’s not on BlueFin. That’s not his real profile.”

“And the panties? That’s the oldest tell in the book of cheating.”

“There has to be a good explanation for it, Chloe. Everything between us is so wonderful. He turned over the office in his home to me, he cooks dinner sometimes, he sang me the most beautiful, heart-breaking song yesterday, we screw like bunnies. It’s perfect, except...”

Chloe coughed. “Except for the cold bachelor pad, the panties under the bed, and the account on BlueFin.”

“That’s not what I was going to say.” I clutched the phone to my ear. “Except for my deception. How can I even give him the third degree about the underwear when I’m keeping such a terrible secret from him?”

“Just because you’re taking a little money on the side—to benefit both of you—doesn’t give him license to cheat.”

“I just don’t think he is.”

“Is that why you called me? So you could defend Ian and convince yourself.”

“Maybe. I’m going to give him a chance to explain everything, and maybe I should explain everything to him, too.”

“That’s a bad idea.”

“Weren’t you the one telling me before I left that I should confess all?” I took a small sip of my lukewarm tea.

“That was before I found out he was a cheating rat bastard.”

“You always believe the worst of him. You even thought the dick pics were his.” I put my hand to my throat, as the rest of Chloe’s words surfaced in my brain. “What were you talking about earlier when you mentioned that PopWiz account?”

“That’s what I’m saying, Ivy. You may be in La-La Land, but the word is already on the street that Ian has a profile on BlueFin. PopWiz reported it in a blind item.”

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