Page 4 of Hotwife

Eva’s heels echoed as she trotted across the marbled floors.

“She’s French?” Cora asked in a hushed whisper as we followed behind.

“Hell no,” I replied softly. “She was a model in France for a semester before Henry snatched her up. Eva is wife number four and likes to cosplay as an interesting European,” I snickered. “Bitch is from Ohio.”

Cora snorted an undignified laugh, and I stifled my own chuckle as Eva’s head whipped around, fanning her chestnut brown hair like a vampire’s cape.

“Well, aren’t you two becoming fast friends? That’s good, I always worry Dolly feels left out,” Eva said, turning back on her beige heels and opening the French doors to the tearoom.

“Rude,” Cora murmured under her breath.

I shrugged, taking my seat on a soft purple fainting couch. A round table of refreshments and pink roses centered the room of chattering women. They all chimed friendly hello’s, and I spaced out as everyone made their rounds introducing themself to the new attendee. She may have been a little rough around the edges, but Cora carried herself with more poise than I could ever seem to muster.

No, these women deserved to be here. They’d worked for it. Eva found her Chief of Surgery husband, who happened to be forty years her senior, and nabbed him. She went from a struggling model living in a two-bedroom apartment with six other girls to a sprawling estate. Bianca, who was sipping champagne while scrolling her phone in the corner, was a pediatric nurse. She’d been through a decade of school, met her cardiologist husband Patrick on the job, and together they work at the same hospital like some picture-perfect power couple.

Then there was Meredith, every so often fiddling with her new nose, touching it as if to make sure it was still there. She was a former cheerleader for some football team I didn’t care to remember the name of. She and her husband, celebrity plastic surgeon Jeff Holbrook, had been married three years, and she’d been under the knife for at least two and half of those years. Meredith was gorgeous without surgical altering. With it, she looked like a porcelain work of art. Too flawless to even be real.

The women here relished their titles, their relationships. They bragged about their husband’s jobs and flaunted their wealth. Each one was in a marriage that suited them, however unorthodox some of them may have been. What I wouldn’t have killed to see all of their prenuptial agreements. But my judgmental ass aside, they all seemed, if not happy, at home in their lives. Content.

What Eva meant as a backhanded slice about me being different, or feeling left out, couldn’t even hurt my feelings because I knew it was true. It was glaringly obvious I didn’t belong. My thighs alone were the size of Meredith’s waist. My frizzy red hair was unkempt. Even with my bra digging into my shoulders, it wasn’t enough to fully lift the girls and what did it matter? I didn’t even care about that as much. I’d been blessed with the rare ability to be proud of my appearance. In Georgia, I loved that my fiery locks drew attention. My hips rounder than my sister’s and my breasts developing before my friends’ did. When men hung around me, I knew why, because I was confident, charming, sexy. And I really felt that way back then, too. I knew it to be true.

Now though? I felt as dull and grey as the Seattle sky outside Eva’s massive mansion. I had no accolades. I’d never even went to college. Cedric didn’t go in search of a model or a cheerleader. Despite our age-gap, I was his first wife. Though I couldn’t say our love story was traditional. It was, and still is, a scandal. But the fact remains, I never planned for or sought after this life. Wealth wasn’t something I was accustomed to enough to even chase, though if I were being honest, I didn’t mind it. The life of a doctor’s wife was not a life I was prepared for when I said “I do” as a young twenty-year-old. No one told me I’d marry an invisible man. One that was never home and when he was, his heart was still at the hospital. If not his heart, then his mind certainly was, especially after what a couple of years ago.

Envy sat on my shoulders like a weight, observing the ease with which everyone else fluttered about. Why couldn’t it be that easy for me, too? What was wrong with me?

The women danced around the table like sprinkles on a doughnut. Sipping teas, nibbling cucumber sandwiches, asking about the others’ husbands and how the foyer remodel, or whatever, was going.

“Dolly? You alright, hun? Here’s a napkin.” Meredith lowered herself slowly to sit beside me.

Accepting her offering, I wiped my fingers and closed the lid. “Thanks, I didn’t even realize I was digging into my own brownies,” I chuckled before setting the container on the edge of the table. The navy blue plastic lid stood out amongst the perfectly aesthetic pale pinks. And it wasn’t exactly an occasion for brownies no one but me would eat, but I always brought a different dessert, transferred it into my own hideous containers, and sat it on the table. It made me feel less naked. In the south, you never show up to a function empty handed. Added bonus, the look on Eva’s face each time was too priceless to pass up. We were playing a game of chicken over who would irritate the other into an outburst first and the drama of it all was getting me through these stuffy ass get togethers.

“I’m going to the ladies room. I’ll be right back,” I said, rubbing Meredith’s arm lightly. She smiled up at me with a nod as I ducked out into the hallway. Leaning against the wall, I took my first breath since walking in.

The thump of a bass and the clinking of metal in the distance caught my attention. Doing a quick check to make sure no one was around, I tiptoed down the hall in search of the music.

The thuds and huffs grew louder, along with the gangster rap. The melodic swearing, laced with promises of fucking and wet pussy, chimed in sharp, indecent contrast to the posh and prim interior. Pausing outside the door, I peeked in. Biceps glittered with sweat under each push of the weights. His abs rippled with effort and each breath blown out might as well have been blown straight to my core. With a bang that made me jump, the weight dropped into its caddy and the man sat up, running a towel over his face.

“If you’re going to gawk, it’s only fair you come in and let me admire you shirtless too,” he said, standing. My eyes stalled on his black and red tattoos curving down his shoulders.

Hesitating, I inched a step forward. I’d been caught staring at some beef-cake in Eva’s house. Great. Heat flooded my cheeks, and I knew my skin color now matched my hair. “Sorry, I just got lost on the way to the bathroom-”

Before I could turn on my heel to power walk-it-out of there, a low chuckle sounded behind me. “You know where the bathroom is, Dolly.”

My inner bitch popped awake at that, and I paused mid-scurry. “Excuse me? Have we met?”

A hint of a smirk flashed across the man’s dark stubble. Only wearing low cut track pants accentuating that tantalizing V men have. His tanned and toned body glistened as he draped his towel around his neck, holding onto the edges in a way that pulled my attention from his abs to his thick, inked forearms. “You know, I don’t think you look like a Dolly. It doesn’t suit you.”

Frozen in the doorway like a mouse in a trap, a foreign but familiar thrill coursed through me, elevating my heart-rate as he lazily strode closer. I racked my suddenly dizzy brain for any hint of recognition. But there was none. I would have remembered this man and the sort of mischievous darkness he so evidently embodied. “I’m sorry, but you must have me confused with someone else. I’m not sure how you know my name but-”

“Dorthea,” he purred, coming to a stop inches in front of me. The warmth of his heated skin met mine with a tingle and a gasp. The awareness of my thighs becoming slicker under my knee-length dress flushed my cheeks a brighter shade of red. What the hell was happening? It was an effort to control my breathing and not reveal that somehow this stranger had me panting in desire.

He leaned forward, lips inches from my ear, as his balmy breath sent a chill from my spine to my beating core. “Dorthea who swims with the sharks but never gets bitten…” he whispered and I gasped at the sudden pointed and wet touch of his teeth on my neck. My hands instinctively met his rock-hard chest with a too-weak shove. Pulling back, his lips met my ear. “Now you have.”

Pulling back with a dark smirk, he was in the center of the room, picking up a dumbbell before I could even register what had just happened. My mouth dropped. Falling backwards, I blinked twice before turning on my heel and hurrying down the hall. Yeah, the weight wasn’t the only dumbbell in this stranger’s hold right now. I may have imagined it, but I swore I heard his faint, dark chuckle mixing with the gangster rap as I retreated. What the actual fuck? He bit me? My palm met the side of my neck. It was still throbbing lightly from the unexpected nip. It didn’t hurt, but it was a reminder that what just happened wasn’t a hallucination.

Startled, a small yelp escaped my throat as a firm hand landed on my shoulder. “Oh, shit. Sorry, Dolly, I didn’t mean to scare you. Eva sent me after you. She thought you may have gotten lost, but honestly, I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d dashed early. It’s a little stale in there, I have to admit.” Bianca’s long dark braids cascaded down her bare shoulders above her strapless top.

“Oh, yeah,” I laughed nervously, hoping the red was fading from my face. My chest swirled with some new emotion. Did I feel guilty? That’s absurd. Why would I feel guilty, I didn’t do anything. “I must have taken a wrong turn on the way to the restroom. Hey, Bianca, do you know of anyone else living here?”

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