Page 87 of Happy Wife

I won’t look desperate. And I’m not going to pick a fight.

He came in through the mudroom and let out a sigh as he put down his briefcase and shrugged off his sports coat.

“Will,” I called from the pantry, trying to sound casual.

“Yeah,” he said, and I could hear the stress of his day in his voice.

I stepped out of the pantry to find him leaning in the doorframe connecting the mudroom to the kitchen.

“Hey.” I smiled.

“I’m sorry. I know I’m late.” He rubbed at his face with an open palm.

“It’s fine. I made dinner?”

He dropped his hand and took in my dress. “Damn. Now I’m really sorry I’m late.”

The first traces of a smile started to curl his lips.

“You like the dress?” I did a playful little shimmy.

“I love the dress.” He stepped toward me, kissing my collarbone. “I love you,” he said into my neck.

“Not so fast.” I laughed. This was classic Will Somerset foreplay. If he got his way, we’d be upstairs in a matter of minutes. “I made dinner.”

He looked up, a little confused. “You actually cooked?”

I walked over to the warming drawer and pulled out the blue Dutch oven. “Short ribs,” I said, a little embarrassed of how proud I felt.

“Shit.” He slapped a hand to his forehead.

The smile on my face quickly fell. “What?”

“I had a late lunch,” he said with a wince. “I’m not really that hungry.”

I will not lose my shit. I will not lose my shit.

“I thought we said we would have dinner together.” I tried to sound calm.

“I didn’t know you were cooking.” His voice was tight with something that sounded like either guilt or frustration. He crossed the room, heading for the bar in the butler’s pantry.

“But I told you I was cooking.” I sounded like a whiny child. I could hear it. I took a deep breath and considered ways that I might be able to salvage the night.

“I must have forgotten.” He made a gesture as if waving the misunderstanding away, but it felt like he was waving me off.

I followed him into the pantry, which was lined with cabinets on one side. Along with the bar setup, there was another dishwasher, a sink, and a coffeemaker built into the wall. The auxiliary prep and serving space was bigger than the kitchen in my mom’s condo. He poured himself a bourbon into one of the lead crystal rocks glasses that stayed lined up neatly next to the bar. I remember thinking he seemed like such a sophisticated adult when I first saw the crystal decanters arranged in this part of the house. Now, I just glared at him.

He could fix this so fast.

Say you fucked up. Just lie to me and say you’re hungry. Say that you can see I went to a lot of trouble. Say something.

“I can’t take it when you look at me like that.” He was clearly annoyed by my disappointment.

“How am I looking at you?” I asked, but there were so many other questions filling up my head.

When did I become an inconvenience? Just another needy little thing to manage? Where’s the man who swept me off my feet? We’ve been married less than a year and I’m already an afterthought? How did we get here so fast?

“We’ll go out when all of this blows over,” he offered, but he was still staring at the ice in his drink.

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