Page 36 of The Husband Diet
The same thing that happened to my erotic dreams about you and my desire to lick you from head to toewould have been an honest answer, but I shrugged, and he paused awkwardly. Boy, was I being difficult or what? But he could hold his own, too.
‘So then the letter – the part about you and your husband – it isn’t true?’ he asked softly.
I turned to look at him and tell him it was none of his business, but the look in his eyes made me laugh. ‘Like I said before, not the baseball bat part, no. I mean, we do have one in the remote chance someone tries to break in. He’s still a Jersey guy at heart, but Ira would never ever hurt us. And before you ask, the kids are in no kind of danger. Ira isn’t a violent man.’ At least not physically, I thought to myself.
And I realized that Julian Foxham didn’t need an office and a big desk to make me feel like I was under a microscope. He managed to do it right here in the open air on a sunny day, with his sexy yet professional gaze (how did hedothat?) sweeping across my face. Oh, sure, he was pleasant and all that, but I knew what was going on behind those bedroom eyes. His personal Spanish Inquisition.
I pictured him and his perfect looks, his perfect job and perfect life, retiring in the evening to a practically perfect woman.
A sigh escaped me – a deep, sad one, as if I were moaning, crying and gasping for air at the same time. It was all I could do not to break down in tears. I took a deep breath and choked on my saliva, gasping for air, and he swatted – again – a hand against the space between my shoulder blades. One sharp blow, but it didn’t hurt.
‘Are you alright?’ he whispered, and I nodded and blinked him an apology as I drank to the end of my juice.
To avoid looking at him, I filled a few more cups, lining them along the edge of the table, pretending to be absorbed by the task. But all I could think of was the effect his hand had had on my back.
He looked at me kindly, his eyes soft, almost like a friend’s.
‘Erica Lowenstein,’ came his deep, sympathetic voice.
I knew in a way he felt sorry for me and it annoyed me tremendously.
‘Cantelli,’ I said, warding off that dreaded surname.
‘Cantelli,’ he repeated musically.
It sounded nice, the way he said it, with that British twang. Ira always made it sound likeErica can’t tell yeh. If he was questioning my using my maiden name, he didn’t show it, the poker face.
‘You’re undeniably a good mother. One of the best, judging by those letters.’
I lifted my head. ‘Really? You’re not just trying to reel me in?’
‘Erica, I just want you to know that I’m very sorry for upsetting you the last time we met. But you see, we were very—’
‘Yeah, yeah. Worried about the kids. I get it. OK, Headmaster, what do you want to know? If my marriage is a happy one? No, it’s not. Then again, I…’ I stopped, biting my lip. This was none of his business anyway – nosy, gorgeous bastard.
‘What? What were you going to say?’
‘That if you want, you can come by any time after school to check on us. Then you’ll see that they live in a comfortable, warm and loving home. Feel free to bring your social services, your guidance teacher or anyone you like.’
There. I’d said it. And then he was blinking at me. Finally, he sighed and took a sip of his juice as a kid approached with some change to buy a slice of cake.
‘Did you bake that?’ Foxham asked me, reaching into his pocket to buy a slice for himself.
I nodded and as he offered me a slice, I shook my head. I was still as disciplined as could be. The two most delicious things in the whole wide world were at that table and I was struggling to keep my hands off both of them.
He sighed. I knew I was being difficult, but this guy was really getting on my nerves, what with the prying and the unsaid sentences left hanging. I preferred him when he stuck to killing spiders.
‘Mmm… delicious. From scratch?’
I nodded.
Julian pointed toward the baseball diamond. ‘Look at Warren – he’s just stepping up to bat, see? He’s a real champion.’
Sure enough, Warren was readying himself, his legs finding their right stance, his hands testing his grip around the bat, his little face pale and his lips tight. This was going to be one of those historical moments in his life where his reputation would be made or broken.
I truly felt for my little guy and I know it’s corny, but in that instant, as he stepped up to bat, I saw the first steps he ever took, and the look of sheer stupor on his toddler’s face, followed by pure joy. The same look he had now as he hit the ball and sent it right out into space.
I squealed and cheered for my boy with the rest of his team and everyone else, so happy that I managed to punch my son’s principal in the chest with all my strength, but he didn’t flinch. Instead, he grinned and pulled the trophy off its stand to present it to Warren and his team.
