Page 33 of The Wrong Husband

Our youngest brother, Dean was into antiques for the love of history. When Duncan and I went to business school, Dean got a PhD in history. He didn't have a business bone in his body and was therefore in charge of acquisitions. Though we had to put him on a budget at times, cause he could go overboard on something he loved with no business value whatsoever for Archer Galleries.

"The Winters are not us," I told him. "The way they treated Emilia…hell, if I wasn't already feeling like an asshole, I definitely would have. Maeve slapped her when I told her we got married. Like hard. Doc was worried she was a victim of domestic abuse."

"She was," Duncan muttered.

"They were all angry with her…not me."

My brother wasn't impressed. "That's nuts. But then…I was angry with her until I met her."

"You like her."

Duncan smiled…well, he moved his lips in what usually looked like a parody of a smile. "How do we handle the parents?"

"I'm not going to tell them about Bianca cheating on me. It'll hurt Mom and…it's not my place to fuck things up for Bianca. Her life, her business. I obviously have moved the fuck on."

"Mom will hate Bianca if she finds out," Duncan agreed. "Probably try to ruin her."

Our mother was all about integrity and loyalty. The fact that Bianca cheated on one of her golden sons would backfire hard on my ex.

"It's complicated as fuck."

Duncan shook his head. "I hate this relationship shit. This is why I fuck escorts."

I wrinkled my nose. "You're too transactional, brother."

"Damian, I'm not the one who married a girl to piss her sister off."

Chapter 9

Emilia

BV, Before Vegas, I would talk to a member of the Archer family maybe once every month. AV, After Vegas, I was talking to Archers all the time.

Yesterday it was Duncan. And this evening I had Marcela Archer at my doorstep.

Damian had called the previous night, but I didn't pick up.

He texted me: Please let me know you're okay.

Me: I'm okay.

Damian: When will you come back to the apartment?

Me: I'm not.

Damian: Yes, you are.

Me: …

I didn't reply to his last message, which I thought was autocratic, presumptuous, and rude.

Speaking of all those qualities, Marcela, who possessed them in spades looked like she was going to nail me to the wall just with her glare.

Honest to God, if she hit me, I'd punch her right back. I was tired of being everyone's scapegoat. Enough was enough.

Last night, Moana confiscated my phone because I kept reading gossip sites that said hateful things about me—and then I cried. It was a vicious cycle.

"Mrs. Archer." I opened the door wide so she could step in. I curbed my desire to add, welcome to the slums.