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This felt like the Twilight Zone. Everything about this morning was unusual. His very presence, the meal he had made, his continued attention. Over the last month or so, we had become experts at ignoring each other. Now, I couldn’t help wondering what had changed and if his asshole superpower was zeroing in on me during the moments when I was the most vulnerable. Because I was feeling pretty horrible right now and the last thing I wanted was for my lying, cheating, masterfully manipulative husband to take advantage of that.

I hobbled over to the coffeemaker and poured myself another cup, planning to return to my room where I could recover in peace.

“You look pale,” Stefan said, a thick layer of faux-concern in his voice.

Ah. So I was right. Clearly, he was enjoying making me miserable.

“I feel fine,” I lied, lifting my chin. I knew I probably looked like shit, but I wasn’t going to admit how bad I was feeling so he could gloat about it. He obviously wanted to punish me for ignoring his dinner invitation last night and skipping out on family time with the Zorics.

“You don’t look fine, kitty cat,” he said.

The use of my nickname—the one that had become dear to me, that he had used in our most intimate moments—felt like a kick in the chest. Why was he using it now? What was he trying to do to me? If he wanted to make me more miserable, well, he was succeeding.

“You don’t need to hover. I’mfine,” I insisted, leaning heavily against the counter to steady myself.

“But you’re not,” he said, again laying on that obviously phony gentle tone. “You can barely stand.”

It felt as if he could see right through me. Did he want me to admit I’d gone out with my friends last night when I shouldn’t have, and that I was now suffering through the worst hangover of my life? Was I supposed to apologize, beg him for forgiveness, or simply break down in front of him for my own edification—or his amusement? And since when had he begun noticing that I existed again? The timing was suspect and I didn’t trust him. Didn’t trust that he wasn’t trying to use my vulnerability to his advantage somehow.

“I have cramps,” I finally blurted. “That’s why I’m skipping yoga. I need a day of bed rest.”

He looked at me as if he knew I was lying.

I didn’t wait for him to say anything more. Instead, I headed back to my room with my coffee and climbed in bed, where I planned to spend the rest of the day. Recovering and wallowing. And hiding from my husband, who was clearly up to something behind my back, though I had no idea what it was.

The only thing I did know for sure was that I couldn’t trust him.

Tori

Chapter 10

“She’s ali-iive!” Audrey squealed in her unmistakable New York accent, slamming into me outside my Intro to Psycholinguistics class in her trademark layers of black clothing and eyeliner.

I’d just walked out into the hall after staying late to speak with my favorite instructor, Professor Dhawan. She’d congratulated me on the strong first semester I was having and urged me to enroll in her Verbal Arts class in the spring.

“I…guess I am,” I said, forcing a casual laugh as I disentangled myself from Audrey’s aggressive hug. My hope had been that nobody would mention Friday night, but it looked like I wasn’t going to get out of answering for whatever had happened.

“Where did you disappear off to?” Lila asked, appearing behind Audrey as we headed for the coffee kiosk in the lobby of Stuart Hall, where we always met up after our morning classes.

“I disappeared?” I said, feigning ignorance. Maybe if I played dumb, they’d tell me their side of the story—and I could figure out exactly what they’d seen, what I’d done publicly, before Gavin had somehow transported me from the 312 Club to Stefan’s condo. It was now obvious that my girlfriends hadn’t been the ones to see me home safely.

“Without a word,” Audrey told me, shaking her head. “We were so worried. We called and texted but no answer.”

I’d spent the majority of the weekend in my room, leaving only for quick trips to the kitchen to get coffee and food (after my stomach settled and could process something more than caffeine). Besides my strange interaction with Stefan on Saturday morning, he’d made himself scarce in the days following. Probably at the office or out with one of his model mistresses.

I was grateful for it. His sudden attention and intense scrutiny had made me uneasy.

“Did you lose your phone at 312?” Lila asked, her eyebrows knitting together in concern. “I’d justdieif I lost mine. Especially at some club, where anyone could pick it up and see all my personal photos.”

“I know exactly what kind of photos you’re talking about, you dirty girl,” Audrey teased as we got in the coffee line. Then she turned back to me, serious again. “Did someone steal it? There’s an app that’ll locate it for you. In the meantime, you should lock your account so nobody else can use it.”

She was talking a mile a minute, as usual, but I managed to respond, “Yeah, um. Itwaslost, but I found it. The, uh, battery must’ve died at the club, and I thought I’d left it there. But when I called they didn’t have it. Turns out it was at the bottom of my purse the whole time!”

It was a bad lie, a needlessly complicated one, but they seemed to accept it at face value.

“Oh my god, that same thing happened to me a few weeks ago,” Lila said. “My phone died and I couldn’t call myself and then I finally found it under my bed. Well. My friend’s bed.”

She and Audrey giggled.