All at once, a shock of pain radiated across her palm. She released her grip and the spoon clattered to the floor, spattering an arc of red sauce into the air.
“You’re being ridiculous.” Marc moved from his spot at the stove. “I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.”
“Why, Marc? Why would you do this to me?”
“To you?” Marc’s eyes widened with genuine surprise. “This has nothing to do with you. I admit Brittney crossed a line when she sent those pictures and I’ll talk to her about it, but nothing’s changed between us. We can go on as we always have.”
Time slowed as she considered what he’d said. Outside, Jill heard the air conditioner click on and felt a trickle of cool air rise from the vents. She glanced at the stove, oddly aware of a stray noodle clinging to the side of the pot.
“No. We can’t,” Jill said, and she knew it had to be her answer.
“We can,” he pressed, misunderstanding her. “To prove it, I’ll cancel the next few days of meetings and we’ll go away, just us.” He reached for her shoulder. When she flinched, he withdrew.
“This is how it happened with Dianne, isn’t it?” Jill said, almost to herself. “She didn’t know about us, did she? You told me that you didn’t want your girls to meet me until you were sure, but the truth is that you didn’t want Dianne to find out. We weren’t ‘dating’ at all, were we? You were cheating on her too.”
“You’re being ridiculous—” Marc began, but Jill cut him off.
“I’m being ridiculous? Me?” Jill howled at the absurdity. You’re the one who cheated on your wife.”
“It’s a little too late to claim the moral high ground now, Jillian DiFiore.” Marc’s laughter was edged with venom. “You slept with a married man too.” Marc’s expression changed and Jill braced for whatever was coming. Marc never backed down, even when he was wrong. He misdirected, honing his replies until they drew blood. She’d seen him do it but never thought he’d turn on her. “I wonder what dear Aunt Sarah would think of you now. The perfect girl she had such hope for.”
Jill fingers tightened against the corner of the granite countertop as the barb hit its mark. It was a vicious thing to say, but what if he was right? What if Aunt Sarah could see her now? Could see what Jill had become? The answer was clear: she would have been disappointed.
It was Marc’s smug expression that jerked her back to reality. How dare he?
“So why did you propose?” Jill asked, feeling anger surge forth when the sharp pain of betrayal had dulled. “You asked me to marry you at the Boathouse, three hours into our first date.” It was the one thing that didn’t make sense to her—Marc had pursued her. Jill had refused that proposal and all the ones that had followed, until he’d finally presented her with a diamond ring too big to ignore. “If all you wanted was an affair, why the proposal? Why the ring?”
Marc shrugged, crossing the room to pour himself a measure of Scotch. “I thought you had potential. I guess I was wrong.”
Jill watched the man who had been her whole world lift the glass to his lips and sip, as if none of this mattered. As if their marriage, their entire world wasn’t falling away from beneath their feet.
Then she realized it wasn’t. Their world wasn’t collapsing at all.
Hers was.
Marc would move forward, unscathed. Even now, he seemed completely unaffected while Jill struggled for breath.
“I grant that finding out about this wasn’t ideal,” Marc continued, as if they were discussing a business project instead of facing the end of their marriage. “I intend to speak to Brittney about what she did. Sending those pictures to you was childish, and she should know better.” He finished his drink and set the glass on the counter. “As for us, I’ll tell you again that I’m willing to put this incident behind us but know that my patience isn’t unlimited.”
“Get out.”
Marc laughed, a reaction so surprising that Jill gaped. The Marc she’d known, married, and loved was gone, and in his place was someone she didn’t recognize. Unmasked, his expression was evil, and his eyes were soulless.
“I suggest you reconsider what you’re saying, Jill,” he sneered. “You’re not the same girl you used to be. How are you going to support yourself and your new fancy tastes? What will you do for money?” His lip curled as he leaned against the counter. “Are you going back to temp work? You wouldn’t last a month behind a desk.”
“Get out of this house. Now.” Jill grabbed the skillet from the stove and hurled it at him. The pan grazed his shoulder and hit the wall, spraying a bloody arc of tomato sauce across the kitchen.
Marc glared at her with naked hatred. “I guess I was wrong about your potential.” He turned to leave, calling over his shoulder as he made his way out of the house, “No matter how you dress or act, you’ll never be anything more than trash from South Jersey.”
She met his insult with the same strength she’d used to stand up to playground bullies when she was a kid. She stood, her back straight and her eyes clear, as if nothing he did could touch her. She watched the man she’d loved open his car door and turn on
