Page 77 of The Wife Situation

“Can you expand?” I ask.

“No.”

“Expected that,” I tell him. “If you wanna hang out, you can join us.”

“I’m okay, thanks.”

Then, I go upstairs and sit on the couch. The problem is, I don’t know Easton and sure as hell don’t know if his current behavior is normal or out of character. He could be reinventing himself before me and I wouldn’t know.

Are we really that good at convincing our close friends, or is there something there that neither of us sees? Because I’m starting to have an existential crisis, like Easton had. I lie back on the couch with my eyes closed, but my mind is reeling.

As I drift off, I receive a text, notifying me that my car will arrive in five minutes. I get up and knock on Carlee’s door. She opens it, her hair in a bun on top of her head. I give her a tight squeeze goodbye.

“How was your nap?”

“Short,” she says. “Promise me we’ll hang out soon.”

“I still owe you one. Brunch didn’t count.” I glance out her window, seeing the slick black limo roll to a stop in front of the apartment. “I gotta go.”

“Please don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t, I promise.” I grab what I can carry, then go downstairs.

Once I’m outside, the driver opens the door for me and Brody moves to the front passenger seat.

Once inside, I see a bouquet of white roses, a bottle of champagne, and chocolate-covered strawberries. There’s a handwritten note attached. I open it, giddy as fuck.

I meant it earlier when I said I missed you.

—E

The handwriting is neat, as if it were its own font. I read over it several times and press my fingers against the smile on my lips before I take a ragged breath.

He’ll break me. He’s going to do it.

I swallow hard, pouring myself a glass of champagne, trying to stop the butterflies from fluttering. This is bad. Very fucking bad.

Forty minutes later, we arrive at the diamond in the sky, and Nash opens the door for me with a smile. “Have a great day, miss.”

“Thanks. You too.” I nod, staring up at the luxury high-rise I will now call home. I’m thankful for the champagne because I needed to relax.

As soon as I enter, I’m greeted by security.

“Ms. Matthews,” the guard says, and a woman wearing a pantsuit approaches me.

“Hi, Lexi. I’m the building manager, Stella. I was asked to give you access to Mr. Calloway’s assets.”

“Yes,” I tell her, following her into an office. Ten minutes later, I’ve got cards, keycodes, my face and fingerprint scanned, and an app on my phone to allow me in and out of the buildingat any time. The only thing I didn’t give her was a blood sample and the promise of my firstborn.

I offer a thank-you and make my way to the elevator. Once inside, I scan the reader and push the button for the top floor. The elevator bolts upward and my nerves fully take over.

When the doors slide open, I hesitate before stepping out. I don’t know why I tense—maybe because none of this feels real or it’s too good to be true.

I glance into the reflection of the shiny wall and get nothing more than a disoriented funhouse version of myself. The mirrors lining the ceiling show me how I really look. I’m not even trying to impress him, not in these ripped jeans and a snarky theater T-shirt.

There will be pictures of me floating around the Internet, wearing this. I have to start trying because these images might haunt me forever.

With my head high, I adjust the tote on my shoulder.

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