Page 55 of Unmatched

She shrugs. I can tell it’s forced by the set of her shoulders, but she looks back and says, “Thirty days. We agreed.”

A lump rises in my throat. I am the last person who deserves a second, let alone a third or fourth chance. But I’ll take every bone she throws. “Okay. Yeah.”

Her stomach lets out a plaintive growl, and she covers it with one hand. “I did um...burn the nachos last time I tried to make them...”

The corners of my mouth rise at the memory. Last winter, on one of the coldest days of the year, we’d had to open every window in the house to get the smoke detectors to stop beeping. Lydia is great with dogs, but she’s never really honed her cooking skills.

“I’ve got it.” I set my duffle on the bed. “Let me just unpack.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

“Are you sure you want to run the entire loop?” Caprice asks. “We could split it up, do a little walking and jogging?”

“Nah, if you normally run the whole thing, I’m here for it,” I say, gazing down the gravel path through the trees on the north end of Wash Park. I can’t remember the last time I actually went running, but after her phone call this morning, I couldn’t turn her down. “Have there been any other messages?”

“Just the one so far,” she says, glancing over her shoulder. “Thanks for keeping me company.”

“Of course.” I tuck my phone away, and we take off. Probably at a slower jog than she’d prefer since I am not ninety percent legs, but I keep pace. “I’m not going to let some jerk take the shine off your success. Last I checked, there were a thousand comments on the article! Seems like you hit a nerve.”

“It’s up to five thousand,” she says under her breath. “Got picked up for syndication, and now Bustle and the New York Post want me to write follow-ups focused on cheaters in other cities.”

“Caprice!” I turn my jog into a run-skip and nearly fall on my grinning face. “What’s it like to hit the big time?”

“On the backs of hundreds of destroyed marriages?” She huffs. “It feels great. I particularly love the personal attacks and death threats.”

I nearly stumble to a halt. “You said there was only one.”

“Technically, only one actually threatened to kill me,” she says, slowing beside me. “There are a handful that promised other unpleasant things.”

I’m not even sure what to say. Anton’s reaction to her article was intense, and I know too well how torn apart some of the affected families must feel. But no one who “dated” on Unmatched has any right to direct their anger at Caprice. If those people’s lives are ruined, they only have themselves to blame.

“You should call the police.”

“It’s just part of journalism.” She gives a passing jogger a wary glance and picks up speed. “It’ll blow over soon.”

I push forward, a stitch forming in my side as I try to keep up with her past the fire station and fishing pond.

“Do you want to come stay with us or something?”

She looks at me and snorts. “That’s some in-depth coverage. Staying in the house of a relationship I ruined.”

My face heats. “I—I wouldn’t call us ruined,” I say thickly, but she goes on like she didn’t hear.

“My building is super secure; no one’s going to mess with me if I’m at work or at the gym. But thanks for coming with me today. I was starting to go stir-crazy only running on a treadmill.”

“Sure. But I still think you ought to?—”

“I’ll be fine.” She says this with confidence, though her voice wavers at the end. “Anyway, what’s the latest on you and Anton?”

I press my lips together, listening to the crunch of our feet on the path. It feels like ages since the hotel, since my failed striptease. And our agreement to give things “another try.” But that was ten days ago, and I can tell you exactly how much “trying” has happened since.

Part of it’s on me. I was filling in for Scarlet at Ooh La Pooch and had forgotten how head-to-toe exhausting grooming every day can be, crawling into bed each night and passing out immediately. But I was considering how to approach my husband...until I got my period. Nothing like cramps and heavy bleeding to kill a mood before it happens. I told myself I’d make twice the effort as soon as I felt normal again. But the bleeding ended two days ago, and I haven’t exactly jumped naked into Anton’s lap.

He hasn’t made any gestures either, which somehow makes me feel worse. Like he’s already given up. But if he was really done, why bother laying down the thirty-day deadline?

Twenty, I remind myself. We’re already down to twenty days.

“We’ve made zero progress,” I breathe, the stitch in my side intensifying, slowing me to a walk. “We agreed to try and fix things for thirty days, but it’s already been ten. Also...” I trail off. I was going to tell Caprice about the purchase offer, about the huge business decision I have to make, but suddenly it doesn’t feel right. That’s a conversation I need to have with Anton first. “It’s just a lot.”

---