Page 12 of Split

“Good evening, Mr. Volkov. Teresa’s shift just ended, so I’ll be taking care of you for the rest of the night,” she purrs, resting a hand on his forearm. “Can I bring you anything from the bar?”

I don’t miss the way she leans in, putting her tits at eye level with his face, nor the way her eyes dart over to clock the ring on his left hand, though she doesn’t spare me a glance.

“Two Macallans,” he replies smoothly. “Thanks, Paige.”

She beams a smile at him, spinning on her heels and walking away, swishing her hips a little too much for my taste.

“I wanted some more wine,” Cherie pouts, looking after the waitress wistfully. Then she turns her pout on me, saying, “Eliza, don’t you want more wine?”

“She’s had enough,” Roman answers for me, and though I’ve been on my best behavior all evening, for some reason that declaration is the final straw that makes me push back.

“Actually, I think Iwouldlike some more,” I say, smiling sweetly as I turn to Roman, the diamond on my finger glittering in the light as I place my hand gently atop his.

He slides his hand out from underneath mine like my touch burns him, the muscle in his jaw feathering as he glares back at me.

I know I’m playing with fire, but now that I’ve resolved I’m going to escape him, I’m not quite as afraid of getting burned.What’s another scar to me, anyways?

The door to the room swings open again, the waitress returning with two glasses of whiskey in her hands. “Here you go,” she says as she approaches the table and sets one in front of each of the men, her eyes lingering on my husband. She flashes him a coy smile as she turns away, heading back the way she came from.

“Paige.”

She stops in her tracks at the sound of her name falling from Roman’s lips, whipping back around like an excitable puppy.

“Yes, Mr. Volkov?” she asks, her heels clipping the stone floor as she rushes back over.

His eyes dart my way for the briefest moment. “The ladies would like more wine. A bottle of your best merlot, please.”

“We just got some new bottles delivered from Italy,” the waitress replies, leaning in eagerly and batting her lashes. Then she boldly sets her hand on top of his, right over the damned wedding band he’s sporting.

He doesn’t pull his hand away from beneathhers, though.

“I’d be happy to take you down to the cellar if you’d like to select it yourself,” she adds.

Is she serious right now?

It takes a great deal of effort for me not to gape at the audacity of this woman. Granted, our marriage is nothing but a hoax, but she’s blatantly propositioning a married man in front of his wife, for fucks sake.

To my surprise, Roman suddenly pushes his chair back, rising to his feet and buttoning his suit coat. “Sure, why not?”

The waitress grins like she’s won the damn lottery, shuffling closer to him and gesturing for the door. “Right this way, sir,” she chirps, leading him out of the private dining room.

Wait, is he really about to leave me alone with his friends to go fuck this waitress?

The click of the door closing behind them gives me my answer, and my stomach bottoms out as I turn my uncomfortable gaze back on Anton and Cherie, the latter giving me a look so pitying that it makes me want to run out of the room screaming.

“I do love Italian wine,” I sigh, reaching out for my glass and downing the last sip.

“Anton took me to Italy last year,” Cherie gushes, fingers toying with the stem of her own glass. “We had some of thebestwine there, and we shipped some back, too. We’ve still got a few bottles left, the two of youmustcome to our place for dinner sometime so you can try it!”

“Oh, absolutely,” I smile, feigning the same enthusiasm.

Cherie begins to regale me with a story about their trip to Italy while I do my best to maintain my composure as the minutes crawl by.

It’s not the fact that Roman’s off fucking someone else. I couldn’t care less where he sticks his dick, so long as it’s not in me. But the fact that I’m forced to sit here making awkward conversation with a pair of strangers while we all know what he’s off doing is beyond humiliating.

And here I thought the display at dinner last night was the most debasing thing he could do to me.

A good ten minutes pass before Roman and the waitress reappear, along with a fancy bottle of wine boasting a label I can’t even pronounce.

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