Page 159 of The Sinner's Sanctuary

“That’s enough,” I snap. “My sex life is none of your business, whether it involves your husband or not. I signed the same NDA allyourvisitors sign, and if you want to judge lifestyles, bring it on.”

“I didn’t…” she shakes her head. “I don’t mean anything hateful by it. The purpose of this conversation was to let you know that if you hurt him or try to con him, I’ll ruin your life.”

“Hm.” Maybe she’s not so bad after all. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“No?”

“Not at all. I have everything I need, and I wouldn’t dream of compromising that.”

“But you’ll neither confirm nor deny?”

“I don’t know if you know this, but one of my closest friends is Silas Manning, and that name might not mean much to you but?—”

“I know who Silas is,” she interrupts.

“Then you know I know how you and Gibson operate.”

Her gaze goes steely and guarded. “Good. Well, unless there’s anything else you want to tell me?—”

“No, and I’d appreciate it if you have any questions regarding your husband, you address them with him next time, but I’ll let him know we talked.”

“Are youserious?”

“I am.”

“Fine. You know what? You’re welcome for the opportunity to work with and seduce my husband. It was my idea, you know.” She stands and wipes the seat of her leggings.

“I appreciate it,” I tell her honestly. “It’s truly changed my life.”

The look on her face can only be described as appalled. “What are you saying?”

I get the impression she’s not used to losing the upper hand. But I also know that she has her reasons for wanting control and autonomy, and they’re as valid as my desire for privacy. “Just that I’m grateful,” I say. “And I hope everything works out.”

Her eyes widen, alarmed. She glances across the street at Gramercy Place and fists her hands at her sides. Her enormous wedding ring grabs my attention, as it was designed to do. It, however, like Marianne’s temper, is barely hanging on to her bony little finger.

“He’smyhusband,” she says, and I’m not sure it’s directed at me.

What I want to say to her is that he could have been. Maybe even a month ago, he still could have been. My worst fear,however, is that this ripple of realization moving through her might be enough to change the tide.

I take a deep breath and remain on the bench as she jaywalks across Park Avenue and disappears into the building.

I pull my phone from my pants pocket and call Gibson.

“Hey,” he says. “I didn’t see you when I got home.”

“When did you get home?”

“Just after two.”

“Oh, I had to go open the loading dock for more movers. Must’ve just missed you,” I say, already totally distracted by the casual sound of his voice.

“Are you in your apartment?” he asks.

“No.”Focus, Christian.“Look, I’m actually calling because Marianne just sat me down for a talk?—”

“She what?”

“She’s on her way up now, I think. She’s convinced we’re having sex, and she wanted to remind me not to try and take advantage of the situation.”

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