Page 80 of The Wrong Husband

I took a deep breath and faced the blank canvas. My emotions were a storm inside me, but I needed to channel them into something tangible. I decided to paint a surrealistic landscape where I could spill my feelings of betrayal, hurt, and the stupid, fragile hope that still lingered.

Through my mind's eye, I could see the painting.

A vast, empty desert under a twilight sky.

The sun setting in a blaze of fiery reds and purples, casting long shadows over the barren land.

In the center, a cracked hourglass filled with a swirling mixture of sand and water—symbolizing the passage of time and the merging of the past and the present.

As I poured my soul onto the canvas, Liza quietly moved around the loft, cleaning and preparing food. The aroma of lasagna baking in the oven gradually filled the air, grounding me. I painted through the pain, through the tears that occasionally blurred my vision, determined to turn my suffering into something beautiful, something that could give me strength to move forward.

Liza made sure I ate before she left and told me that I had to finish a massive jug of pineapple juice she left in the fridge. I liked pineapples because they reminded me of summers with Aunt Maddy.

I painted for nearly eight hours after Liza left. Feeling exhausted, I crawled into bed and let sleep take me.

Chapter 27

Damian

Iwatched her sleep.

Liza had warned me Emilia was painting and I'd put the whole family on shift duty. I couldn't stand the idea of her collapsing again. Every time I remembered how it had felt to see her crumpled on the floor that last time, my heart stopped.

I'd cautiously walked into our loft, unsure if Em was sleeping or awake. I knew she hadn't changed the security codes. She didn't know how to. But I also knew she needed to lick her wounds in silence without the noise of people, their thoughts, and emotions.

She was hurt. But I also knew she would get over it. Emilia was too generous to close her heart to me. But I didn't want to take advantage of her tender emotions. I'd already done that once; though I couldn't regret it because then I wouldn't have her in my life. And the truth was that I needed her in my life to make it worth living. Until Emilia, my life had been hectic, and I had confused being busy with living well. Now, I appreciated the quiet.

"Being bored is good for the brain, sparks creative thinking," Emilia advised me when she insisted we simply cuddle on the couch and stare into space.

"So, you want us to just sit on the couch and listen to music and do nothing else."

"You can either listen to music or do something else. We humans are not good at multi-tasking no matter what the old wives' tales say about women being able to do it."

I didn't mind holding her, I liked that part. The doing nothing part, for a type-A workaholic like me, that wasn’t easy.

It took her a few days to get me there, but she did. I loved our quiet times. We'd be together, reading our respective books. Or we'd listen to music. Or she'd fall asleep with her head on my lap, while I watched a ball game.

I couldn’t remember the last time I watched TV without working on my laptop. But with Emilia, I had started to focus on just one thing at a time, and I realized how much more I enjoyed it.

Now, she slept restlessly. Her heart hurt. She stirred but didn't wake up. I stroked her cheek and kissed her lips. My beautiful wife.

She'd been crying, Liza told me, the whole time she was painting. She had to stop at times because she couldn't see the canvas.

I never realized how much it hurts when the person you love is in any kind of pain. I spent the night with my wife, watching her sleep.

I let Duncan into the loft at six in the morning when he, as he joked, reported for duty.

I'd had a long talk with my parents, Duncan and even Dean on the phone about what went down with Emilia. My mother had behaved like a complete bitch, and she owned it. She also wanted to rip me a new one for not telling her about Bianca's infidelity—but since I was broken hearted because of Em, she thought that was punishment enough.

Gideon had been embarrassed because he'd let Maeve and Bianca coerce him into ambushing Emilia, who he admitted didn't deserve the treatment she'd gotten. Fat lot of good his regret was worth now. Also, I didn't believe he was sincere. He probably didn’t want to lose his friendship with my parents—but I could tell him that ship had sailed, and my mother would make it her life's work to get him out of Archer Galleries.

Bianca had had a whole bunch of excuses—which my mother refused to entertain. Maeve was blubbering most of the time, not making much sense.

Dad hated how Emilia had been treated. Dean called me names.

We all agreed that my telling her, I love you would not cut it. She wasn't about to believe me. I had to prove it to her. I had no idea how.

Chapter 28