Page 86 of Happy Wife

“What?” Este turns her head toward me.

“What thefuckis happening? Damnit. I didn’t choose this—Ididn’t want—” I stop myself. I can’t say that. I did choose this. In every way. The Hot Mean Lawyer picked me, and I leaned in so hard, even when things got bad and then worse. And now look at me. The press is hounding me, there are no answers to how Will ended up dead in the lake, and I’m…all alone. Worse than alone, I’m a murder suspect.

Did you get what you were after, Nora?

I look at Perry and then to Este and Beau, and their sympathetic faces are more than I can handle. The dam breaks. But it’s not what I thought it was going to be. It’s not the puddles of tears I’ve refused to cry over the recent days. Instead, I’m marching down the back lawn, Este calling after me, and I can hear my voice, but I don’t even know what I am saying.

And when I get to the dock, I pick up my pace, and run right off the end of it. Hair, makeup, and a two-thousand-dollar designer dress be damned.

Grief is ugly.

The water hits me, and I just stay under the surface. It’s silent here. Maybe I’ll never come back up. But my lungs start to burn. I hadn’t exactly taken a good breath before jumping.

I kick my way to the surface. Este’s on the end of the dock, pulling a towel out of the storage bin beside the boat. She doesn’t say anything—just offers me a hand out of the water. Perry and Beau are on the pool deck. I watch Perry clap Beau on the back gently and mutter something I can’t hear. Beau nods as Perry heads up the side yard, presumably to avoid this epic shit show. Este wraps me up in a towel and pulls me into a big hug.

Something snaps me back to reality, and then the truths I haven’t wanted to believe are suffocatingly real. And that’s when I finally let it all go. Thick, choking sobs fight their way to the top of my throat as I gasp and wail. Este doubles down on her squeeze as the tears come in crushing waves.

Will is dead. Will is dead. Will is dead.

And then a sickening thought comes to me.

What if his killer was at the funeral?

Chapter34

Before

Will and I barely ate together most days, but after another long week of work for him, I thought changing the scenery and setting the table for a nice meal would finally give us the dinner I had wanted to have the night that we went out with Gianna and Fritz.

As I walked along the aisles of Whole Foods, I couldn’t help but think that when I was Nora Davies, grocery shopping had been a fight for survival. I made so little money between the museum and the swimming lessons that I was relegated to palm-sweating fear of whether my card would be declined every time I swiped it at checkout.

But now, as Nora Somerset, I could lazily walk up and down each aisle—each aisle!—and read labels, and place however many nine-dollar bricks of cheese I wanted to put in the cart. I didn’t. I usually tried to find the cheapest one in the bin—old habits die hard.

Somehow hours of shopping had passed before I came home with the ingredients to make Will’s favorite slow-cooked short ribs over polenta. I had gotten a little more confident in the kitchen thanks to cooking with Marcus. And I was extra grateful that Will’s favorite food mostly involved throwing a bunch ofingredients into a Dutch oven and walking away to watch someone else going through a painstaking two-hour prep of a meal onIron Chef.

Things were starting to come together by late afternoon. But I felt like a little girl playing house as I pulled out Will’s bone china and silver flatware and started to set the table.

When everything was perfectly placed, I checked my phone. I had added location sharing for Will and me after one too many nights when I thought he was on his way home, only to find out he was pulling another all-nighter somewhere. The Find My app booted up and showed him at the address of his office.

I sent a quick text.

7:21p.m.

Still on for dinner?

I ran upstairs to put on the dress.The dress.I had returned Este’s after borrowing it for dinner with Fritz and Gianna, but after seeing how much Will loved it, I spent days scouring consignment shops online for the same vintage Dolce & Gabbana dress in my size. I was busy stuffing myself into the bodycon silhouette when my phone pinged with an incoming text.

7:46p.m.

Leaving in 10. I have to make one more call.

I spoke fluent Will. Ten minutes was more like thirty. I took a breath.

That’s fine. It gives me more time to primp.

But when thirty minutes turned into an hour, my composure started to fray a little. I had moved the short ribs to the warming drawer, but the polenta was beginning to rubberize into a sad, sticky little Frisbee. I should have known better than to cook it so soon.

I was searching the pantry to see if I had the ingredients to start over when I heard the garage door opening. I planted my feet where I was standing, determined not to run to the door to greet him.

---