The Fidelity Files (Jennifer Hunter #1)(117)

Sophie was silent. I knew she didn't have a clue what to say. And I was almost more grateful for her silence. At least it was honest.

We sat there for a long time. A few minutes even. Then finally she asked, "So are you going to go?"

Without even turning back to face her I replied, "Yes. I want this cheating bastard caught and brought to justice."

Sophie cracked a smile. "You sound like a district attorney."

"Well, now I know what it feels like to be one."

"But why even go? Why put yourself through it? You know he's a cheater. Cancel on him and tell his wife that he failed."

"Because I have to know," I insisted.

"Know what?" Sophie asked, puzzled.

"If he'd really do it. Really cheat."

Sophie reflected momentarily. "You mean sex?"

I twisted my neck and turned my head toward her, struggling to give her an obvious nod. "Um, yeah! We still haven't had sex! He said he wanted to wait...no reason to rush into anything, let's take it slow . . . blah, blah, blah... *."

"And you think he did that because he's married?" Sophie asked.

"Can you think of any other reason?"

She took a deep breath. "But sex or no sex...he still cheated."

"Did he?"

She looked at me and our eyes locked. She knew what I was getting at. It was the question that all of us women ask ourselves. It was the age-old question of relationships. The question as old as the institution of marriage itself.

What constitutes cheating?

Is it the removal of the wedding ring? Is it the failure to mention a wife? Is it kissing? Flirting? Touching? Talking?

Where's the line? And when do they cross it?

When do you consider your husband to have cheating tendencies? When is it confirmed that he has an "intention" to be unfaithful? And is an intention even enough?

But these were questions I left up to my clients. Questions I never had to answer myself.

Until now.

Because now it was me who needed to know.

It was me who had to define the act of cheating.

And it was suddenly a whole different ball game.

"So you're going to have sex with him?"

I closed my eyes tightly. "I can't now!" I practically yelled. "I wanted to. I mean, what's more perfect than making love for the first time with someone in Paris? It's like a movie."

Sophie nodded. "Yeah."

"But now, if I have sex with him to prove a point...to myself, or to anyone... then I'm just as bad as he is! I'm having sex with a married man. A man I know is married. That's just plain wrong."

"So what then?" Sophie asked. "What are you going to do?"

I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling. "I guess the same thing I always do."

"Intention?"

The tears began to form again. "The very highest level of it."

"But you guys are sharing a hotel room, right? Isn't that pretty much proof of an intention right there? I mean, he didn't book you separate rooms, did he?"

I shook my head. "No. But a hotel room is not enough. I have to be absolutely sure. I have to know if he'd really go through with it. If not for his" – I paused and fought back a break in my voice – "wife... then for me."

Sophie looked at me and gently reached over to wipe away a stray tear that had rolled down the side of my face. "But Jen," she began. "What if he doesn't? What if he doesn't go through with it?"

I let out a frustrated laugh. "I've thought of that," I admitted. "And I think that's the scariest outcome of them all."

What if he didn't go through with it? Would that make him honest? Faithful? What? Would I be able to actually add him to the sacred list in my secret, wooden box and say "Yea!" for all the faithful couples in the universe? I hope they're all very happy. Maybe they can form a club and celebrate together. All ten of them. Or nine, or whatever the real number was. I didn't have a clue anymore.

Hell, I didn't even know if my best friend's future husband was the cheating type. I didn't know anything these days. And the things I thought I knew, the things I thought I could be sure of, turns out they're a bunch of crap, too.

It just wasn't fair. The first time – the only time – I let my guard down, I get stuck with a complete jerk-off who parades around as a decent guy, asking me to go to Paris and take things slow. And after I'd been so careful for two years not to fall for anyone because, as I'd just proven, they call it "falling" for a reason. If I remember correctly from age five: You fall, you hurt yourself. You scrape your knee or your elbow and you have to wear an obnoxious, brightly colored, Sesame Street bandage to show off your wound to everyone. Look at me! I got hurt. I was running around the pool even though I was told not to and look how well that turned out.

After Sophie left, promising she would be back in a few hours to check on me, Jamie called for the third time, and after the fourth ring I decided I had to answer it. For work purposes. If I were going to pull off a flawless act of "nothing's wrong and I still have no idea you're married" while we were in Paris, I would eventually have to answer his calls. Otherwise he'd start to suspect. And I couldn't allow anything to interfere with my very important, top-secret, under-the-covers assignment.