Then the waiter left them alone with their coffee, and Madeleine came round and gave her husband a shock.
“I kissed someone.”
There was no real lead up to it, no introduction, no preamble, no small talk. No softening the blow.
She just blurted it out.
“I kissed a guy.”
Hugo felt stunned, quite stunned.
Madeleine looked at him as though he were a ghost, frozen in fear at what he might do in response to her revelation. Hugo felt his stomach lurch quite dramatically, and he very nearly lost his evening’s meal.
Oh Jesus.
For a moment he didn’t know quite what to think, let alone what to say. He focused on breathing—in, out, calmly, slowly. They sat there with the gentle tinkle of the jazz piano over by the bar to give them some sense of continuity to their evening.
It was clear Madeleine needed to assuage her soul with a full confession, to end all guilt one way or the other, resolve the huge Sword of Damocles that had been hanging over her. But she’d never worked out any kind of damage limitation strategy. That was more Hugo’s skill set, now he was in public relations.
“Oh God, Hugo, I’m so sorry…” her voice quiet, small, plainly terrified. “I was drunk, it really didn’t mean anything…”
Yet as the initial shock melted, and his conscious mind returned, he found that what he was feeling most of all was relief. She wasn’t depressed again, she hadn’t lost that gloriously sexy side of herself again—she had been gripped by that tyrant of mental malaise, guilt.
It must have been at that last book-signing event that something had happened. When Lucy had tried to call him. When Madeleine had suddenly cooled.
“It was only a kiss,” she said, hastily scratching for whatever mitigating factors sprang to mind.
He just looked at her.
“It really didn’t last longer than a moment.”
Underneath the make-up she’d put on in honor of their five-year celebration, her skin really was so pale. It almost made her look like a goth or an emo, albeit with cute blonde hair rather than depressing jet black. Her hands were pale, too, particularly her knuckles as she clung to the white tablecloth.
It was the slight quiver in her bottom lip that told him how frightened she was.
He didn’t like to see her frightened. He liked to see her smile, laugh, moan in unbridled joy.
“I never meant…” Her words trailed off, as though she’d lost phone reception, except that this was a conversation in the flesh.
Madeleine was really shaking. It wasn’t cold in there at all, even if she was wearing a tiny little dress that barely covered anything. Did she imagine she’d lose him?
“Who was it?” Hugo asked.
“Someone from work. I’ll hand in my resignation,” she said. “I’ll find something else. Anything you want.”
It was frightening for him, too. Terrifying.
But underneath the surface, it made him tingle all over that this had happened. Madeleine had kissed someone. Her flirting had gone too far. How could that feel like a good thing?
Hugo wanted coffee, he wanted the check, he wanted green lights all the way home. He suddenly didn’t want to have to make life-changing decisions. If he reassured her that kissing other men was okay, she might get completely the wrong idea.
He just didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t really planned any of this, hadn’t expected any of this. His silence seemed to make Madeleine more anxious, though he didn’t want her to feel that way, his brain had frozen.
Eventually, he said: “You love that job.”
A small nod, playing down the importance of just how much her new job meant to her.
Then, his curiosity seemed to take over. He said quietly: “What happened?”
“We were in the bar afterwards. I guess everyone had quite a bit to drink. We were all really happy it’d all been such a success—the guys from head office were really pleased, and when I suggested we should go one step further and maybe work to start publishing new authors... I guess it was a surprise they wanted to run with that idea, too.”
“It was someone from head office?” Hugo found his tongue. Dry, sticking to the sides of his mouth.
“No. From the store. Fabian. He was the one who said the store should take up my ideas, encouraged me to talk to the head office guys about my small press idea…”
“He’s supported you, he’s a nice guy. You like him.”
She nodded.
“I just forgot myself,” she said. “Just for a moment.”
“You liked it?”
Madeleine did not answer that one.
“I’ll quit. I’ll find something else.” The corners of her mouth were squeezed downwards almost unnaturally far. She glanced sharp left, towards the windows and the awesome view down 5th Avenue that had so taken them both earlier in the meal, but now seemed ordinary, trivial, unimportant.
Then he saw tears coming.
He felt the sudden need to reassure her, to somehow encourage her without making her think he didn’t care. He said: “Don’t be silly, you don’t have to give up your job for a little thing like that.”
She nodded, sucked in a deep breath that was very nearly a sob.
“It meant nothing,” she said, resorting to semi-remembered lines from movies to keep from bogging down in her mind-numbing terror. “Really. It was just... you know, a few too many drinks.”
Hugo nodded slowly, sticking to his strategy of slowing everything down to give himself time to think. A politicians’ tactic.
He said, almost callously: “But you enjoyed it.”
He didn’t really mean to push it. It just seemed fascinating to him. He saw her flinch when he asked her that. Such simple little words that could cause such emotion: heated jealousy in him, ice-cold fear in her.
“I was... it was just…”
She sighed, and a lonely tear made a break for it down her cheek.
Hugo said: “And this guy from the store, this was the first time he’s ever shown interest in you?”
Madeleine shrugged, her lip quivered. She could no longer bring herself to look him in the eyes. Her voice was flat, drained of life as she answered him: “He’s never gone that far before, if that’s what you mean.”
“But you’ve enjoyed flirting with him a little, the last few months.”
Another shrug. Another tear coursing down her pale cheek.
He said: “This whole thing at work… Is this what’s made you feel so much better these days?”
She looked up, eyes suddenly sharp through the quiet tears. “Is that what you think?”
“There’s been quite a change in you, honey, since we came to New York. You have to admit.”
A little scowl at that. “I’ve been on a new treatment since we got here,” she said. “A new doctor. I’m not feeling better simply because a few guys’ve been hitting on me.”
“A few guys?” Hugo couldn’t hold back a little half-grin, and Madeleine now flushed. She looked so cute when she blushed. How could he possibly resist, whatever she’d done?
“All the guys are like that at the store. It’s not serious.”
“But then you kissed one of them.”
“I told you; I’ll quit. It won’t happen again.” Her words spiky, as though she thought he was going too far rubbing her face in it.
“No—don’t quit.” She looked up at him again, her left eyebrow raised. He said: “I like that you have fun with other people. What’s the harm in a little flirting?”
“I don’t get it. What are you saying?”
“I’m saying,” he said, his heart pounding in his chest now, his body reacting to the unnatural things he was thinking. “I’m saying, if this is what gets you leaping out of bed in the morning, it’s what brings this confident, smiling, beautiful woman home to me again in the evening, maybe I don’t want it to stop.”
“Hugo, you’re confusing me.”
There was that sexy little crinkle between her p
erfectly plucked eyebrows, like she was quietly horrified at just how insane he was, which made him just want to hold her and run his fingers through her hair and kiss her until her face broke out into another one of her glorious smiles.
He said: “It was only a kiss, Madeleine.”
The waiter arrived, asked if they wanted more coffee, or an after dinner liqueur. Hugo quietly ordered a single malt for himself, Baileys for Madeleine.
“So wait, you’re not actually angry?” she said when they were alone again, her tone suggesting she didn’t quite believe him, perhaps that she thought he was trying to trap her.
He said: “We’re not dating any more, Madeleine. It’s our fifth wedding anniversary. I don’t think a drunken smooch with some other guy means you don’t love me any more.”
“Of course it doesn’t.”
“So, then.” Hugo saw the waiter approaching with the drinks, and just in time added: “I guess if you want my honest opinion, I think it’s kind of hot that guys have been showing you a little attention recently.”
God, where did that come from? It was one of the lines he’d practiced earlier inside his head, but never really thought he’d be bold enough to use. The evening’s wine had leant him a little courage.
“You think it’s hot?” shock, now, materialized in Madeleine’s face.
The waiter was slow in placing the glasses in front of them, in asking them if there was anything else they wanted. Hugo looked across the table and saw confusion in his wife’s face after his unexpected response to her transgression.
Then, at last, the waiter withdrew to fetch their check.
“So let me get this straight,” Madeleine said. “You don’t want me to quit my job.”
“Of course not.”
“Even though Fabian will still be there, working with me, every day.”
A shrug, the alcohol keeping him casual. He swirled the scotch in his glass, checking out the color against the candle flame. “I don’t think you should feel bad if you’re at work, and there’s guys there that find you attractive,” he said. “And if there’s a little flirting going on, what’s the problem? It makes you feel good.”
“You’re not angry? You’re not even a little jealous?” Madeleine was beginning to sound a touch angry, disappointed by his reaction. As though she’d been preparing herself for a fight, learning her lines and practicing her moves, and he’d spoiled all her efforts by his shock decision to instantly forgive her.
“You want me to be?”
“No,” she said meekly.
“I am a little jealous, if you must know,” he said, and saw a flicker of satisfaction pass across his wife’s pretty face. Had she been hoping for that? To validate her?
“Actually, makes me feel as though I’ve been punched in the stomach by Tyson.”
“Oh, sweetie…”
He said: “The thing is… well, truth is I get a real kick out of you being happy.”
“How d’you mean?”
“All this attention you’ve been getting from other guys—whether or not your treatment’s changed, or you’ve been seeing a new therapist—it has definitely given you more confidence, has made you happier.”
“I guess…”
“So, then. I guess I’m saying that I like the change in you.”
“You’re a strange one, Hugo Finnell,” she said, but her frown lightened a little, as though she were beginning to believe him, beginning to decide he wasn’t trying to trap her. “I’m not sure I entirely understand what you’re saying.”
“Maddie, you drive me crazy, you know that?”
“Crazy?”
“You’ve been miserable for three years, maybe more. I feel like I did the best I could to support you through it, but nothing I did brought you out of it.”
“You did everything possible,” she insisted, a tear trickling down her cheek.
“If your new job, your new friends can help you where I’ve failed, then that has to be a good thing.”
“It’s not just the new job,” she said. “It’s everything—our new home, this new city. It’s a fresh start.”
“You deserve it, Madeleine. You deserve some attention.”
She flashed him a quizzical look, then sniffed up a tear, attempting a smile. “Who are you, and what have you done with the man who pulled me away from the best man at our wedding because you thought he was staring at my chest?”
“He was staring at your chest.” Hugo smiled in. “You were flashing him at the time.”
“That was good Champagne we had,” she giggled, and Hugo felt a warm tingling sensation spread through his loins.
God, the effect she had on him when she laughed—when she smiled, even. It was like some kind of drug, buzzing through his whole system. And he knew he was hooked, he was a bona fide addict.
Perhaps that addiction was distorting his sensibilities regarding her flirting with other men.
“We’ve been in a dark place for most of our marriage, Madeleine,” he said, serious now. Seeing the light drain out of her face as he recalled the way it had been. “Now that we’ve emerged... I guess I’m a little dazzled by the brightness.”
Madeleine just looked at him for a long moment, and as her dark eyes flickered over his face, he saw in them genuine concern for the toll her condition had taken on him—something that was often forgotten while she’d been deep in her despair for so long.
“My therapist says there’ll be an adjustment period for both of us,” she said, surprising him to mention her therapist, something she never did, having taken years to even accept that she ought to see one, that it didn’t mean she was weak. “We just need to find our balance again.”
He nodded.
“You’re looking pretty incredible tonight, honey,” he said, and adored the way she blushed in response.
“It is a special occasion.”
“You haven’t dressed up for me for a while.”
“I didn’t really think of it until recently,” she said.
“You’ve been dressing differently at work,” he said, and he saw her face return to defensive mode. “You never used to wear skirts.”
“It’s warmer down here.” Her eyes didn’t seem to quite believe her tongue.
But he chuckled, said: “It’s not much different from Boston. And it’s not just that they’re skirts, huh? Some of them are like belts.” A wet smile, trying to inject a little humor to show her he wasn’t angry.
She was a little taken aback that he’d noticed her skirts, it seemed.
“It makes me feel… better,” she said, treading carefully as she tried to explain. “I don’t know—I never liked the way I looked before. I guess the guys at work... made me think differently. They can’t stop staring.”
“You look amazing, you always did. Women think men are only interested in stick thin models.”
“Have you ever—would you ever have said something to me about looking less than perfect?”
“Of course not, I’m your husband.”
“Exactly. And I love you for it, but you’re hardly impartial.”
“And now you’ve had a few nice comments at work…”
She glanced away from his eyes, suddenly shy. “It has given me more confidence, I guess…”
Hugo nodded. “I approve,” he said.
“And how do you know how I dress at work?” she fired back at him now. “You’re out of the door before me in the morning, and you don’t get home until long after me unless it’s the late shift, and I always wear normal stuff on the late shift.”
He smiled. “We do share the same laundry basket, Hon,” he said. “I assume you don’t leave your skimpy little skirts and tiny little tops in there just to taunt me.”
She flushed, deeply red.
“And some of the things you must wear to the gym...”
A gasp at that.
The tuxedo-clad waiter brought the check, and it was plain he could sense a real heart-to-heart was going on at their table. Co
uld people hear their conversation? Hugo handed him a bank card and the waiter scuttled away as quickly as his little legs could carry him.
“It’s not about.... wanting someone else,” Madeleine said, breaking the silence the waiter had left behind at their table. “You do know that, don’t you? It’s never been about that.”
The scotch burned the back of his throat.
He breathed, savoring the fumes from the glass, enjoying the deep orangey, tobacco-like finish of the whisky.
“What is it about?” he asked, quietly.
“I don’t know...” she said, but the glint in her eye suggested she had at least an inkling. Now it was his turn to raise an eyebrow. She glanced in his eyes, then down at her glass of untouched Baileys.
Now she sipped the creamy liqueur.
He watched her, not giving her an easy way out of the explanation he craved. She did look incredible in a little charcoal-gray sequined dress, which suggested she was wearing no underwear underneath whatsoever. It was no hardship for him to simply sit there and gaze upon her, his eyes running down from her sharp, almost feline face, taking in her elegant neck, the clear skin of her chest and mouthwatering roundness of her cleavage.
“It’s not that I want other men,” she said, shooting him a direct look straight in the eyes. Feigning boldness, even if the slight shake of her hands gripping the tumbler gave her game away. “It’s just… it just feels good that they notice me.”
“Of course,” he said, his flat tone giving the impression he hadn’t decided yet whether to take offense.
She glanced around the near-empty establishment, double checking their privacy levels. “The guys at work are so chilled out—they know it’s not serious. They tease me, so it’s kind of expected that I’ll tease them a little.”
“And you like being a tease,” Hugo said, loving the gentle pinkness blooming in her cheeks again.
Hands on her hips, she arched her back, showing off her figure to the fullest effect considering she remained seated. She said: “I like the way they react to me, the way they look at me when they think I’m not looking. I don’t sit around hoping one of them will ask me out. I just enjoy… winding them up. Driving them crazy.”
“I’ll bet you drive them crazy,” he said, swirling his scotch, watching the golden glint from 14 years matured in oak barrels.
Madeleine Wakes (A Wife-Watching Romance): Book One of the Madeleine Trilogy Page 10
