Page 79 of The Wrong Husband

Mostly, I cried and slept.

I had turned my phone off. When Moana had banged on my door in the morning, I told her to go away. She said she'd give me twenty four hours and after that my ass was hers.

I hated all the drama. My life had been easy, simple. I pretended to have a close relationship with my family. I pretended to like my job. I pretended that someday I'd go do my master's in Chicago. I pretended a whole lot of things and had zero drama.

Since Damian Fucking Archer seduced me in Las Vegas, I was pretending to have a happy marriage—but the rest of my life had become really good. I was having high-quality sex. Even though Damian was my first, my ex-escort friend had told me, "Three orgasms in one night? Keep him. Tie him down. Poke holes in the condom, get knocked up. Don't let the sumbitch get away."

We were socializing with fun people as a couple. I was seen by him. I had a man in my life who told me I was beautiful and proved it by inserting his erect penis into me relentlessly.

Now, I'd never have good sex again. I'd have a broken heart instead.

All hysterics aside, my soul was wounded. Every time I'd told him how guilty I felt because he was drunk and I hadn't been—he probably laughed at me, enjoying how he'd manipulated me so well that I thought getting married had been my idea. Isn't that what narcissists did? Convinced you that their bad ideas were yours?

If he had told me, "Hey, Bianca is cheating on me, let's pretend we're dating and having sex so I can make her jealous," I'd have been all over that.

But I knew better. That kind of subterfuge would have emotionally bankrupted me to the point that I would have trouble waking up in the morning and looking at myself in the mirror.

After spending two days crying, I sat in front of my easel and decided to let my pain flow out of me. It took that long for my eyes to stop watering and be clear enough for me to see the canvas.

Liza came as she did on Monday morning. She had a key, so she walked in, disarmed security, and saw me on the floor.

"Morning."

"Damian doesn't live here anymore so you don't have to come by," I told her as I stared at the blank canvas. It was rude but I didn't care. I was too tired for niceties.

Liza set her bag on the kitchen counter and sat on the floor next to me. "What happened?"

"Damian didn't tell you?" I sniffled.

"No."

"He married me to make Bianca jealous." I felt the bile rise inside me at those words.

"I don't understand."

I told Liza the whole sordid tale. She'd probably signed enough NDAs to work at an Archer household that she was a safe person to talk to.

"So, what?"

"Didn't you hear me? He married me…seduced me, not because of me but my sister."

"That was then. He's in love with you now."

I stuck my tongue out at Liza. "He's not in love with me."

"Yes, he is." Then she stuck her tongue out at me.

I smiled despite myself. "I hurt, Liza," I confessed somberly. "It's hard to make fun of this. I usually laugh it all away but…this one is…I thought he cared about me. That he noticed me."

"You thought he married you because he was drunk. Now you know he did it while he was sober. Doesn't change what you both have built since then."

"I'm going to paint," I told her.

"I'm going to clean up and—"

"Damian doesn't live here, Liza. You can't just—"

"Go paint and let me do my job. I'm going to make lasagna, so you have something to eat. And I want you to take breaks to sleep and eat. I don't need you to collapse like last time because you're painting nonstop."