The Wife Who Knew Too Much(13)

“Hey,” I said, shifting closer to him.

He looked up and our eyes met. As if in slow motion, he leaned toward me, and I thought, Don’t do this, you’ll regret it. But my lips parted.

A sudden crashing sound outside made us both sit up in a flash. We stared at the blankness beyond the tall windows.

“What was that?” I said.

Connor jumped to his feet, rushing over to press his face up against the glass of the window.

“It’s too dark out there. I can’t see a thing. I worry sometimes that Nina is having me followed.”

My hand went to my throat. “Do you think someone followed us here?”

He turned from the window. “We’d probably have seen them on the road. But I’d better check. Stay here, I won’t be long.”

“Be careful.”

Connor marched out the front door. I wrung my hands in my lap, listening to the wind howl. Up here on top of the mountain, it was like summer had never come. I stared into the blue flames and shivered. Did my phone even work up here? I dug for it in my handbag. No service. Figured. I got up and walked around the great room, looking for a landline telephone, but there was none. I didn’t have the nerve to go search one out in the other rooms. I went back to the sofa and downed the rest of the scotch in one go. It warmed me up without calming me down. When the front door banged open suddenly, I jumped. But it was just Connor coming back. I heaved a sigh of relief and stood up to meet him.

“What was it?”

“There’s a big tree branch down on that side of the house. It must’ve come down in the wind. I think that’s what we heard. Come, sit down.”

On the sofa, I drew my knees up to my chest. We sat closer together than before, turning toward each other. Connor picked up his glass and took a big gulp. He seemed tense. I wondered if he’d told me the whole story.

“You’re worried. Your hands are shaking,” I said.

“Honestly. That’s from being around you.”

“Don’t say things like that.”

“Even if they’re true?”

“Shouldn’t you go to the police?” I said, looking to change the subject.

“To say what?”

“That your wife is having you followed?”

“I have no proof. It’s just a feeling.”

“Then what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. But seeing you, I realize I have to do something. I don’t want to go on like this.”

His hazel eyes were so near that I saw my reflection in them. I loved the line of his mouth, so strong and yet so vulnerable. I wanted to kiss him, badly. But he was married, and troubled, and dangerous for me.

“Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if I’d married you instead,” he said.

I’d been waiting years to hear him say that. Now that it was happening, I wasn’t sure I could handle it.

“Don’t play with my feelings.”

“I’m not. I really mean it. I should have come back here a long time ago. What we had was so pure. Those were the happiest days of my life. I’d give anything to feel that way again. Please, can I just—”

“No. It’s not a good idea.”

“Please. Let me.”

He raised his hands and undid my hair. It came cascading down. He buried his face in it.

“I remember this,” he said.

“We should stop, before it’s too late,” I whispered.

“It’s already too late.”

He leaned in to kiss me, and my lips parted like they remembered him. His mouth was the same, his taste as sweet as ever. My hands found their way to his shirt. The cotton was finer than what he’d worn in my memory, his body underneath my fingers subtly changed. I undid the buttons. Then he took off my shirt. We paused, taking each other in with our eyes, our hands moving over each other. He was sturdier, more solid, more defined than I remembered, but the texture of his skin under my fingers, the hollow at his collarbone, I remembered vividly. When he touched me, every man I’d been with in the intervening years faded away. They’d all been wrong. Every one. He knew how to touch me like nobody else did. My breath came in gasps. Our clothes were in piles on the floor. He was on top of me, his skin silken against mine, his body moving against me, his face filling my vision. He was all that I could see. All I ever wanted to see. Please, I thought, let him stay with me this time. Let him never leave. I know this is wrong. But it feels so right. And I don’t want it to end.





8





Delicate morning light streamed through the tall windows of the ski house, illuminating Connor’s face as he slept. We lay on the sofa, naked and tangled in each other’s arms, partially covered by a cashmere throw. I was cold and stiff, and I needed to pee. But I held perfectly still, fearing that, the moment he woke, my time with him would come to an end.

He stirred, opening his eyes.

“Hi,” he said, and kissed me lightly on the lips.

“Hi.”

This was pretend. There was someplace else he ought to be, another woman he belonged to. He knew that better than I did. Anxiety flared in his eyes as reality set in. He sat up abruptly and grabbed his phone from the coffee table. The screen as he unlocked it was covered with the bubbles of multiple text messages. I watched him scroll through hurriedly, watched his shoulders slump, watched as he rushed to pull on his underwear. And I knew what it meant: He’d leave, and I wouldn’t see him again.