Page 29 of The Husband Diet
There it was. My stupid act of hysteria had returned to bite me on the as. And then, to top it off, it happened. I slid off my chair, landing at his feet with a thud.
In an instant he was kneeling at my side. ‘Are you OK?’
Am I OK? My husband has a lover and we’re divorcing. I challenge anybody to be OK.
‘I’m fine,’ I snapped as he moved to haul me up, tears of humiliation pricking the back of my eyes.
I hoped he hadn’t caught a whiff of my dingy eau de mothballs. In one swift movement that surprised even me, I lurched back to my feet on my own, saving the remains of my dingity – I mean, mydignity.
For good measure, I treated him to my famous evil eyeball, but he didn’t flinch, either. It was official – I was starting to lose my touch.
‘Now,’ I said to the man who had seen my plus-size thighs, ‘can you please tell me what makes you ask such a question, let alone pry into my personal life?’
It wasn’t me, Erica Lowenstein, the lousy housewife talking, but Erica Cantelli. My brave, haughty alter ego, the super hotel manager, the one who kicked ass and was never talked to without paramount respect. And boy was she angry now.
Julian was thrown for a split second but recovered fantastically. And with such class.
‘Erica, it’s not about your personal life per se. It’s about the children. They’re showing signs of abnormal behavior and we’re just concerned.’
‘Concerned? I see,’ I answered, having regained composure and possession of my wits. I didn’t care if this gorgeous guy was Mr. Universe himself – he had no right to… to pry into my soul and bring out all the things I was doing wrong.
‘I’m not trying to pry into your soul, Erica. I’m just worried.’
I looked up at him in horror as I realized I’d spoken my thoughts. Did I also say the Mr. Universe part? Aww, to hell with it all. I didn’t give a damn anymore about anything. I was just tired and wanted to go home to Maddy and Warren. And a cartload of aspirin.
Mr. Foxham – Julian – hadn’t returned behind his desk but lingered with his butt on the armrest of a nearby chair, facing me.
I sighed. This guy was like a hound with a carcass. And he wasn’t letting go of it. Better get it out, if it helped the kids.
‘I’m not… exactly in the best place at the moment,’ I managed.
He nodded sympathetically. ‘Problems?’
‘Just stressed and overworked. I’ve got so many responsibilities, I’d have to be a schizophrenic to handle every role in my life and not go crazy. Does it show that much?’
He chuckled and peered into my face as if to count how many personalities lurked inside me.
‘No. It’s just the way the kids talk about you. You’re their heroine.’
I sat up higher. ‘Hmm,’ I said, trying not to sound too impressed, although my whole life had just been made in this one sad but unexpectedly glorious moment.
‘If they had to choose between their dad and their mom’s, er, many personalities, it would be every single one of yours.’
So not only was the hunk sympathetic, but he also had a sense of humor. Big deal. ‘Ah, I’m not sure I’d try to encourage this kind of confession from a pair of kids, Mr. Foxham,’ I drawled softly, back in the saddle.
He looked at me squarely with those eyes and the hair on the back of my neck rose. Jesus, if his gaze had this effect on me, imagine if he reached out andtouchedme.
‘It was something they revealed spontaneously. I didn’t elicit it. No one did. Here, have a look.’
I glanced at the sheets of paper put in front of me, recognizing Madeleine’s and Warren’s writing. I read Madeleine’s first. Her literacy levels were superior for her age, I’d been told time and again. But still, she was a child with a child’s thoughts. I smiled at the colored sparkles all over the page:
My mom works all day in a hotel, but she always picks us up from school on time and bakes us a cake and makes us supper. She’s never in a hurry to finish our evening bath when we talk and laugh. And when she tucks us into bed, she doesn’t read us bedtime stories from a book. No, sir – she tells us about the weird people she meets every day, and she even makes their voices and makes us laugh.
(There was a smiley face instead of a period.)
My friends say she’s big, but to me she’s a star. I love her better than my dad, who yells at her saying she’s too fat and ruins his life. I hate my dad.
Maddy Cantelli
