Page 29 of Circle of Strangers
If onlythatwere the case.
Will leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, candlelight flickering in his dark eyes, silently willing me to meet his gaze.
“I like this fresh start for us,” he says. “It feels good to let some things go.”
I press my lips together, feeling the weight of the unspoken things between us.
“I liked what we had. It was perfect.” I keep my voice even. “Until your mother came along and ...”
The words dissipate between us, sharp and loaded but unspoken.
Will sighs, rubbing a hand across his five-o’clock shadow. “Camille ...”
“It’s true,” I say, not bothering to soften the edges. I won’t apologize for stating facts.
His mouth tightens, but he doesn’t argue.
“Youseem happier here,” he says gently, changing the subject. “Unless you’re pretending. You don’t have to do that for me anymore, Camille. You don’t have to be so perfect all the time. You can be ... you.”
He’s referring to Gabrielle—my real name.
“Iambeing me,” I tell him.
Will slices into his steak, which has long since cooled since we sat down. He chews a bite, his brows furrowing as his gaze grows unfocused.
“I miss how it used to be,” I tell him. Everything was controlled, manageable. These days I’m mostly bored and feeling out of my element. It’s as if something—or someone—has knocked me off balance and I’ve yet to regain my footing.
I used to be a step ahead of everyone, always, but now it seems there’s nothing I can do to catch up.
The whole Oscar situation is proof of that.
Will leans back, appearing thoughtful. “Do you miss me working twenty-four-hour shifts at the hospital? Never being home to help with the kids? Hell, Camille, I was more married to my job than I was to you some weeks. I hated that. I hated that for you.”
“We made it work.”
“Do you want me to get a second job? Be gone more often?” His voice is light, teasing, but there’s an edge beneath it—a challenge I’m not sure I’m ready to face.
“That’s not what I mean.” I roll my eyes and point my wineglass at him.
“Then what do you mean, Camille?” he asks, his voice low, calm. “What do you want? You miss how it used to be, but in which ways?”
I open my mouth to answer, but the words stick in my throat. I know exactly what I want—I want to know if he’s having an affair. Iwant to know if Mara’s flirtations mean something more. I want the truth, no matter how ugly it might be.
But I can’t say that.
Part of me doesn’t want to know yet—not until I have an idea of how I’d handle the worst-case scenario.
When I don’t answer right away, concern flickers in his eyes.
“Are you doing okay?” His hand slinks across the table, covering mine. “Really, Camille. Are you doing okay?”
I swallow hard, forcing myself to smile.
“Of course,” I say, though the lie tastes bitter on my tongue.
Will’s chair scrapes against the patio floor as he stands and moves to sit beside me. He takes my hands in his, his touch warm and familiar.
“It’s my job as your husband to make you happy.” His thumb brushes gently over my knuckles.
