The Affair (The Relationship Quo Series Book 5)

by Nicole Strycharz

  I saw a flicker of pain. It was easy to recognize because I see it in myself every time, I pass a mirror. “Can I leave this here anyway?”

  He shrugged.

  I stood and he leisurely stood with me.

  We faced one another, lost in our own thoughts. “I wish I knew why this hurts so much,” I admitted. “Why does it feel like someone stuffed my life into a snow globe so they could shake it upside-down?” I lifted my eyes to him, feeling those wretched tears bubble up into my vision again. “Why does it feel so terrible?”

  Lorenzo crossed his arms. “It isn’t the act of cheating that hurts. It’s more the lie. It’s the idea that everything sacred and private, isn’t anymore. Cheating hurts because it makes our love insufficient, and there ain’t nothing worse than feeling like not enough.”

  I could feel his words vibrating into my bones. He’s right. It was Noah’s lies that killed me. The thought of him having sex with another woman was sickening, but it was his devotion to keeping me in the dark that ruined me. His continuous lying meant he felt no real remorse because he intended to do it to me over and over again.

  It wasn’t just a one-time mistake that he had to confess to me in a tirade of tears while on his knees. It was a steady deception that he seemed to have no plan on ending.

  On impulse, I came forward and hugged Lorenzo. He was stiff, keeping his arms crossed, and tensing until I let go.

  “Sorry,” I stepped back. “You just put it really well. It felt nice to have it explained.” I shouldered my purse. “This is goodbye, then,” I crumpled the napkin and left the number on the table since he wouldn’t take it. “Thank you for talking to me.”

  He nodded again.

  I walked around him and out the door.

  Chapter Six

  LYDIA

  A week passes, and I’ve decided to make more of an effort.

  Friday night, I make an enormous dinner reminiscent of Thanksgiving, with a sizable turkey, and tons of sides. It took me all day because most of it was made from scratch. When Noah and I first married, I used to make really elaborate meals. I’ve started to believe that every little place that I’ve become lax, could be the reason he strayed from me.

  I’m tightening the reins on myself.

  “Hey,” I hear him come into the house and stand straight by the oven. I was bent over the open door, heat blasting me in the face as I prepared to take the turkey from the oven. At hearing him, I felt a rush of self-consciousness. I checked my reflection in a nearby pot and rubbed my cheeks so they would be blushed.

  “Hi,” I called back.

  “Something smells awesome,” he came around the corner and hugged me. “What’s all this?”

  My heart swelled with pride, gesturing to the food that could feed three families. “I wanted to spoil you.”

  He grins and drools over my turkey. “That is going to be the reason I put on weight.”

  “Why don’t you go hang out in the living room and when I’m done, I’ll come to get you?”

  He pulls his eyes from the meal and back to me. “Sounds good, but, before I do,” he let go of me to reach into his duffle. He took the thing with him everywhere, work, gym, basketball, it is, in all actuality, a man-purse.

  Noah takes out an expensive looking box that is sleek and shiny. When I see the word Coco and lower the word Chanel, my throat pinches shut with shock. “What?” comes out.

  “It’s an early Halloween gift,” he justifies.

  “I can’t even bring myself to touch the box with my peasant’s fingers. Noah, that is highly affluent perfume.”

  “Yeah,” he opens the box and pulls the delicate glass bottle out. “For my really worth it wife.”

  “But… I don’t wear perfume.”

  “You are spoiling me with food tonight, I bought this for the same reason. This is me spoiling you with something just because I love and appreciate you.” He lowers it between us. “You have no idea how low maintenance you are. You’re not the kind of wife I have to harp about bills too. You’re frugal and I’m grateful for that quality in you, but this is a guilty pleasure I want you to have.”

  I opened my mouth to say, but I’m spoiling you, so you leave your mistress… can’t say that out loud, though. “Honey, it’s beautiful, but I don’t need—” Before I finish, his finger presses down on the cap, and the fragrance attacks my face and neck. I feel like a wasp getting hit by insect repellent. The smell is luxurious, but not me at all, and I cough in response.

  “Shoot, sorry,” he grimaced. “I didn’t mean to spray it at you like that,” he hurried to put it back in the box as I swat at the air to make the scent go away.

  “It’s okay.” I see this could be him trying to fix whatever I had no clue was broken between us, and I smile to reassure him. “It smells really great. I love it.”

  “Yeah?” he gives me his boyish grin again.

  “Yeah, it’s very fresh and feminine. Thank you,” he swallowed me in a hug, and I bury my face in his shirt. In these few seconds, I know in my heart that Noah is my soulmate and I’m willing to try anything to keep him. I mean, if Hillary could forgive Clinton, I can forgive Noah. When we are old, we could look back at this as the difficult years and tell other young couples that we survived it. When Noah realizes how much I love him, he’ll come clean about Ruby and then I will forgive and forget, and we will go back to how it was.

  His phone rings in his pocket and he lets go of me to answer it.

  “Hey,” he said sharply. After a long pause, I go back to taking the turkey out and slip the perfume box in my apron pocket.

  “Well, uh…” he hesitates with whoever is on the line. “I just got home and—” he stops and turns his back to me. “No, I can make it, I just need… a minute…” he walked out of the kitchen and into the foyer. He’s muffled but I can still hear him. “I just need to do a few things here and then I can… uh… yeah, I could meet you after. Right.” His laugh is sudden but genuine. “I was thinking that too. I was. Alright, give me a bit. Thanks. Okay, bye.”

  The unease that stings in my wrists and belly is making me sick. I’m always sick now.

  “Ugh,” he huffed in an exaggerated way as he wandered back into the kitchen. “You won’t believe this.”

  No, I really won’t.

  “Stan wants to have a meeting about Halloween. He thinks we should have the youth group do something fun. Dress up as Biblical characters. Then for the church, maybe like a hidden Bible verse tucked into the candy for the congregation to give out or like have the kids pumpkin carve.”

  I’m nodding like a fool because I know in my heart that was not Stan on the phone. “That sounds really cool.”

  “It is, but,” he put his hands on his waist and wrinkled his nose. “I have to meet him now. It should only be a couple of hours; would that be okay? You worked so hard on all this.”

  I pulled the thermometer out of the turkey and fought anxiety. She whistles, he comes. He’s not mine anymore. “I can warm it all,” I said in a positive tone.

  He sighed, relieved. “Thank you, I am so, so sorry. When I come home, let’s feast, alright?”

  I faced the counter as a tear pulled from my eye. I brought my voice up to a musical happiness to throw him off. “Yes! Feast like royalty! You go, and… I will… wrap all this…”

  He laughed and kissed my cheek. “Okay, be back in a few hours.” He snatched a thin bit of turkey skin and yelled, “Love you,” as he went out the door.

  I didn’t cry until I heard his car. Wringing my hands, I looked at all the food. I need to keep it together. Crying every time this happens will make it worse. I need tin foil and cling wrap.

  Walking to the cupboard, I feel strong, until I walk back to the counter and see all the food. He couldn’t tell her, no? Not tonight? He couldn’t stand to be apart from her long enough to eat this first?

  And what am I settling for?

  What do I want?

  How stupid am I?

  Dear
God, let my husband stay long enough to eat my food before he goes to meet his harlot—

  Oh, that was awful.

  God says not to judge others; I don’t know Ruby. Not that all harlots are bad. Rahab, Mary Magdalene, the Yellow Rose of Texas… all good whores.

  But Ruby isn’t helping to bring down the walls of Jericho, she’s bringing down my husband’s pants, and she isn’t washing Jesus’ feet with her gorgeous hair, she’s digging her manicured fingers into my husband’s, and we don’t live in Texas.

  I flung the wraps for the food and sat on the kitchen floor against the counter.

  I just don’t want to feel alone. Isolated from my church, my friends, my family, by Noah’s secret. I feel I’m going crazy.

  I pant my frustration and sniff back more tears. “God,” I talked to the silence. “Can you just… sit with me or something?” I moaned into my hands. “I need someone to talk to, please… I can’t do this by myself.” A wave of heartbreak hits my chest, suffocating me.

  Then my phone chimes with a text. It scared me at first. Loathingly, I pull it from the counter behind me and look at the screen. It’s from a number I don’t have saved in my cell.

  “Mine’s excuse was a Pilates class. What was yours?”

  Right away, I know who it is. After a week, and leaving my number in a crumpled napkin, I never thought I would hear from him, but Lorenzo’s text is well-timed. Distracting me from my grief and even making me smile a little.

  “Mine’s was a Youth Leader meeting,” I texted back.

  He responds,

  “Using God to commit adultery. He better stay clear of lightning.”

  This makes me laugh unexpectedly.

  “God doesn’t punish us like that.”

  His answer is slow in coming.

  “Tell that to the Jews. It didn’t take forty years to find the promised land because their GPS broke.”

  My laughter fit is uncontrollable for a long time and when I finally governor myself, I answer.

  “I have not laughed like that in a long time.”

  Ten minutes pass before he responds.

  “What are you doing while your husband is doing my wife?”

  This morbid turn in his humor makes me smile despite my pain in the reality of his words.

  “Are you hungry?” I answered his question with a question.

  I watch the word bubble as he types, then read his words as soon as they appeared.

  “I’m Italian, I’m always hungry.”

  I typed my idea without thinking it through.

  “I made enough food for a country, but when your wife called my husband, he couldn’t stay to eat any of it.”

  I waited, feeling nervous now. I don’t know why.

  When he answers ‘sure,’ I send him our address and waited. He didn’t even ask if I meant that I wanted him to help me eat it. He just said ‘sure’. I like that I didn’t have to make it plainer.

  Over thirty minutes pass before I hear the hum of a motorcycle and then a knock moments later. When I open the door, I find Lorenzo on my bottom step, hands in his pockets, his ever watchful, dark eyes flicking over everything, including me.

  “You ride a motorcycle?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  After standing in the door a few seconds, I come outside and hug myself. “Um, before you come inside, I just need to tell you that I didn’t invite you here for inappropriate reasons. I know this isn’t decent to be alone with you but… I think I need the distraction.”

  Lorenzo listens fully with his brows high. “You aren’t allowed to be alone with men?”

  “Well, no, it’s inappropriate because it’s the appearance of evil and no one is here to hold us accountable.”

  He frowned. “For what?”

  “For…” I shifted uncomfortably. “You know…” I lowered my voice. “Temptation—”

  His rich laughter cuts me off.

  “What’s so funny?”

  He won’t stop, but when he does, his smile is wide and brings a new sort of handsomeness to his face. “You are very safe from me.”

  Now I frown. “What does that mean?” I ask, stepping back with the door open to let him in.

  “You are not my type,” he walks in, the smell of cold, tobacco, and leather filling my nose.

  I stand with my shoulders back as we walk to the kitchen. “That’s really rude.”

  “That is honest. You are too skinny.”

  I make an indignant gasp. “Too skinny? How is that a bad thing?”

  “You look like an A cup, and your hips are too narrow.” He starts assessing my kitchen as if he didn’t just insult me. “You made all this?”

  I let go of his comments on my figure and came to stand by my beautiful turkey. “Yep,” I pointed to a seat at my kitchen island.

  He doesn’t obey and sit, instead, he goes to where my knives are and chooses his tools for carving. “Your knives are dull,” he murmurs, checking the edges with his thumbs.

  “Noah usually does them…”

  “He’s worse than I thought, then,” he stopped to take off his coat. He’s tall, and lean. Not quite as tall as Noah, but just as fit. His skin is tanned, as though he spends a great amount of time in the sun, but it isn’t the sun, it’s genetics. Leather cuffs are on each of his wrists, a long rawhide necklace hangs from his neck with a copper medallion that bears the likeness of a saint I don’t know.

  I took the coat from him and laid it over the back of a chair by the dining room table. When I turn around, he is at work with my knives, steel sliding against steel as he sharpens our tools. This makes the cords in his arms more pronounced and his shoulder blades open and close under his shirt.

  “Sit,” he said with authority.

  It’s my kitchen, my food, my house, but I find myself sitting where I told him to sit so I can watch him. He carves like an expert.

  “How long do you think they will be?” I ask him.

  Lorenzo doesn’t look up as he slices my bird. “I don’t know. How long can your husband fuck?”

  “Don’t curse and don’t talk about… that…”

  He smirks, dealing the meat onto the two plates I had out for Noah and me.

  I stand to serve the other dishes, but again he sternly said, “Sit down.” The snapping of his fingers and then pointing at my chair enforces my compliance.

  When he’s done, we sit across from each other and eat. “Have you ever cheated?” I ask.

  He shakes his head, chewing before speaking. “I do not break my promises.”

  I push my mashed potatoes around with my fork. “I don’t either. Do you ever want to? Cheat, I mean. To hurt her for hurting you? Have you ever…”

  “No,” is his only reply.

  “I saw pictures of you and Ruby online from your engagement. You looked so happy.”

  “Fools usually are.”

  “You don’t think that,” I scold.

  “I do. I was foolish.”

  I pressed my fork into my potatoes to make Criss-cross patterns. “How did you meet her?”

  He pushed my plate forward. “Eat.”

  “I am.”

  “Nah, you are toying with it. Eat, it’s very good.”

  “You like my food?” I raised one of my brows. “You? The lord of the scullery.”

  He pointed to his plate with his fork. “This is excellent. You did well.”

  He’s so upfront and critical that I know from the little time we have spent in one another’s company that if the food was not up to standard, he would have no problem telling me so.

  “If you eat, I’ll answer,” he stipulated.

  I haven’t had an appetite since I ate at his place, but I want to know more about Ruby, so I took a bite to encourage him.

  He sat back. “I met her a year after my father had me working the restaurant as his second up. She came in for a job as a waitress. She didn’t need to work her way through law school, her father always paid for everything she did, and gladl
y. But he did want her to have the experience, and Ruby likes a challenge. We started dating.”

  I imagined it. “She’s really beautiful.”

  He nodded. “She is. She also has troubles. I wanted to help her.”

  “What kind of troubles?”

  “When she was thirteen, she was abducted by men that had a grudge against her father. They hurt her very badly. It was a seventy-two-hour hell. She came out of it with issues, as anyone would, especially toward men. She didn’t tell me that until after we married. I just knew that she had been abused somehow and that she was afraid of men and sex.”

  I held my mouth, feeling horribly guilty for ever thinking her a harlot. My head pounded at the thought of what she lived through. “That’s terrible. No one should deal with that. What happened between you, then? You sound like you were both happy.”

  “I helped get her past her fear. Once she was over it, she stopped seeing sex as pain, started seeing it as an escape. But I wasn’t enough, so she started sleeping with other men. I had a feeling for the first year we were married, but I was not sure, and I did not want to hurt her by asking,” his accent thickened, as he went. “I found out when my father died. She missed the ceremony. When she did arrive at the wake, she disappeared not long after, and my mother found her fucking one of my friends in the upstairs bathroom.”

  I didn’t like his use of a bad word, but the story was more disturbing. “Oh,” was all I could say.

  “She swore it would never happen again, but it did and many times, with many people. Never the same person for long. My family hates her, but they try to be polite.”

  I felt sick again. “How long has she been with Noah?” I felt a little hope. She’s never with the same man long, he said, so maybe soon the affair would end.

  He shrugged. “I cannot say. I don’t keep track of who they are. I have followed her at times, and I watch. She takes them to the same place. A house her father bought her, just for that purpose. He always hated me. I’m not good enough, in his opinion.”

  I had managed to eat most of my food, but what I left behind, Lorenzo used his fork to clear away and eat.

  “You watch?”