Page 158 of The Sinner's Sanctuary

“Cheating isn’t grounds for an annulment, and we have an open marriage anyway. I don’t even know if her relationshipwith Avery is like that, but I know they’re close, and if they’re close, they’ve talked, and if they’ve talked, Marianne could have mentioned the truth about our sex life.”

“Oh. Well. Thanks for keeping me in the loop.”

“Don’t sound too excited.”

“I’ll be excited when you have an actual conversation with her.”

“Is that what’s bugging you?” Gibson asks as a dozen people come and go without my acknowledging them at all.

What’s bugging me is I want this over with. I want Marianne out of his life. He and I might work out, we might not, but I actually do love the guy, and living with that woman is sucking out his soul. “Just do what you have to do.”

“I will. And I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah,” I say quietly.

He takes his phone out of his pocket and types out a text. My phone buzzes, and I glance at the screen.

Gibson

I love you

“Same,” I tell him, which results in a smile before he leaves the building.

A few minutes later, one of the movers comes to the desk and lets me know in a thick New York accent that they’re having trouble with the couch and the service elevator.

Using a hundred dollars of my own money, I tell him to make the fucking thing fit. Best investment of the day.

The afternoon move is smoother, as the Wall Street trader and his wife actually hired a reputable, licensed company who got parking permits and everything. I feel like I’m going to coast through four o’clock until I hear a soft voice clearing nearby.

Hiding my anxiety with a blank face, I nod at Marianne. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Hayes. How can I help?”

Jonathan, the doorman who’s taking over for me this eveningslides behind the desk and claps me on the back. Marianne acknowledges him before glancing back to me. “Why don’t we take a walk once you’re done here? I’ll be just outside.”

“I—okay.”

She smiles, and I see what Gibson means when he calls it brittle. She doesn’t look as good as the last time I saw her. Like some of that buffed-to-a-shine glow is dull or missing.

I can’t decide whether to be unnerved or not. Gibson told me it’s likely she knows I’ve been in the club with him, and as we spend most of the time we’re there in his private room, it’s not a big leap to assume something’s going on. But from what he’s told me, he’s never “taken a lover.” He’s had subs and pets and casual sex with either escorts or club visitors, but his longest relationships have been with the women he’s dominated, and there were no feelings involved except maybe affection—some he was particularly fond of.

What Gibson’s not sure about, and therefore I have no clue, is how Marianne will handle knowing that what he and I have is more than casual. It’s not like his theory of her and Avery made him happy for her. It pissed him off and hurt his feelings, and now he wants their marriage annulled. I take a breath to brace myself and give Jonathan all the updates. He tells me he would have done the same thing with those movers from earlier.

It’s a warm day, so as I leave the building, I take off my jacket and swing it over my shoulder, letting it dangle from my finger. Marianne is easy to spot in her white athleisurewear on a bench directly across the street. Her hair is piled high in a carefully curated “messy” bun, and she watches my approach with a degree of curiosity on her face. She pats the bench about two feet away from her. “Have a seat.”

I give her even more space and sit three feet away. I put my jacket across my lap and my elbow on the back of the bench so I can face her.

She perches on the edge, her hands gripping the seat,knuckles white. She’s lost weight, I think, and she was extremely thin to begin with. “I’ll get straight to the point. Are you fucking my husband?”

Bracing myself does nothing when that question hits the air. While I understand the contours of their marriage, I acknowledge that what I don’t know about it is vast. “Why?” I ask.

She sends a leveling glare my way, but I keep my expression blank. “Look, I like you Christian. I always have, but don’t test my patience. Have you and Gibson been having sex?”

“I’m not following why you need to know,” I say, sticking with the not giving anything away approach.

Her shoulders stiffen. “Fine. Then I’ll tell you what I do know. Gibson is my husband. My partner. My best friend. We love each other. I probably knew I loved him before you knew your ABCs. If for any reason, you think you can take something from him—something fromme, you’re gravely mistaken.”

I nod and say, “Thank you for letting me know,” which probably only pisses her off more, but she doesn’t show it.

“At first I was shocked,” she says. “Gibson with a man? It’s almost sad. But he does seem to have a thing for role play, and I imagine you’re all too eager to play the naughty secretary for him. I hope he’s compensating you well. If not, let me know, and I’ll?—”

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