Page 110 of Six Month Wife
The air shifts. Something tight in my chest begins to loosen.
She doesn’t argue. She doesn’t have to. Her silence says enough.
Maybe she’s right, I’m letting ego talk louder than my heart. I don’t want to be the reason this ends before it ever really began—even if I’m risking everything to find out.
My phone rings in my purse. I grab it to see if it's Parker, and my heart drops when I see that it's Jenna.
I sigh. “I should take this. She’s probably read the article by now. I'll be quick.”
Bets rises, already reaching for her tablet. “Get it. No rush, I'll be right here.”
I step out onto the porch and put the phone to my ear.
“Hey,” I say, trying to sound normal.
“Don’t youheyme,” Jenna fires back, sharp and breathless. “You’remarried?”
I wince. “Technically, but--”
“And it was for an inheritance?” she adds, already at a ten. “Adair, what the hell? Why haven't you told me any of this?”
“I was going to tell you. I didn’t know how.”
“You tell your best friend, that’s how.”
“I know. I messed up. I’m sorry.”
Silence. Then a softer exhale. “Are you okay?”
“I will be. I’m working on it.”
“Good. Because if I see one more headline painting you as the con artist in a man’s soap opera, I swear to God, I’ll drive to Palm Beach and punch someone.”
A reluctant laugh escapes me. “I love you. I’m at Bets’s right now talking about Citrine and, you know, life on fire. Can I call you back tonight?”
“You better. Wine, details, and the whole truth.”
“Promise.”
I hang up and glance at my screen. My name pops up in three new Google Alerts.
The momentary calm from talking to Bets and Jenna evaporates.
This is what it means to be in the eye of it. Not only the article, but everything that came before and everything that’s still coming.
No matter how fast I mop the floors or pack the boxes or pitch the next product, I can’t outwork the fallout.
Not this time.
30
Parker
The second mywheels hit the tarmac, I power on my phone. It lights up like it’s on fire, with notification after notification.
The first thing that hits is a text from Leeland.
Thought you’d want to see what the press dug up. This wasn't me. I warned you.
