Page 2 of Ella Gets the D
He adjusts the teal tie the kids and I bought him last Father’s Day. His tailored gray suit is back in place. Not a wrinkle or an ounce of shame in sight. “Thought you had a party today.”
And I deserved more respect than hearing you go to Pound Town with another woman in our home.
“I left Duke’s gift,” I say with a nod toward the front door. His eyes follow mine to a blue and green Minecraft bag I forgot to pack in my rush to get Jackson and Haile to their swim lessons on time. “Who’s in our bedroom?”
He holds me in a stare, one meant to shrink me down a size for challenging the powerful Charles Hudson II. “No one important.”
“Let me guess, you took a detour from the conference you’re supposed to be at to give a personal tour of our house. She tripped and fell on your penis,” I deadpan. “Hope she enjoyed the new headboard. Sounded sturdy.”
Oh, look, I pissed off Charles the Cheater. He hates when anyone questions his authority.
Too bad.
I stand from the kitchen counter I spent countless hours cleaning and head to the staircase. Charles moves in front of me. His voice is low when he speaks. “You don’t want to do this, El.”
My eyes travel up his frame to reach his gaze. “Don’t I?” I step around him and grab a heel to bang on the railing. “Oh, mistress!” I singsong. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”
“Ella,” Charles says through gritted teeth.
Hit a nerve, did I?
Footsteps pad down the carpeted runner. Charles and I watch the woman he propelled into our memory foam mattress descend the oak staircase.
She’s shorter than me—five-five to my five-eleven, if I had to guess—and looks young. High school young. God, I hope she’s at least twenty-one.
Champagne hair fans over her eyes, which refuse to meet mine. I look down at her red-painted toes to search for whatever has her attention. Her hands twist in front of her sheath dress like she’s working on an imaginary Rubik’s Cube.
She’s nervous.
She should be.
“Look at me.” Her head lifts at a snail’s pace to reveal a flushed face and hazel eyes. She’s pretty, the type who bites the sides of their mouth to contour the cheekbones they see in high fashion magazines. She has a narrow nose and plump lips that look like she sucked dick for two hours. If she wasn’t screwing my husband, I’d ask where she gets her eyebrows done. They’re thick like mine but look airbrushed. “How old are you?”
“Tw-twenty-nine.”
I glare at Charles, who looks back unamused. Their twenty-one-year age gap is on brand with this cliché. Of course he picks a woman nearly half his age. I hope she can separate her whites from her lights and darks.
The twenty-niner opens her mouth to speak, but I cut her off. “Nothing you say will change the fact that you had sex with a married man. And don’t insult my intelligence, because he’s wearing his ring.” I sigh. “You’re young. You can still make better choices.” Hope blooms in her eyes. I smother it. “Don’t look at me like that. You’re still a bitch. Go do better; I know I will.”
“Enough!” A large vein strains against Charles’s neck. “Go wait in the car,” he says to his mistress, his eyes fixed on me.
Our gazes remain in a tug-of-war. Silence thickens the air until we hear the scurry of feet and the mud room door close.
“I’m going to the airport.”
“If you think you—”
His hand raises. “I’ll drop her off and come straight home. I won’t go to the conference.”
I scowl. “And you thinkthatmakesthisbetter?” Reality sets in. “You were going to keep her in your hotel room.” The audacity of this man. “Do you two work together?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“You’re right. We’re done.”
That felt good. Let me say it again.
“Done.” I close the distance between us, my confidence building with each step. “Go to the conference, Charles. You’re free to fuck whoever, whenever, as a single man.”
