Chapter 4

Saturday morning. The smell of waffles made me want to throw up.

Andrew was humming in the kitchen—the song from our first date. His wrists moved elegantly as he flipped the spatula, just as practiced as when he'd caressed Tessa yesterday.

I made coffee for the third time. The bitter taste of espresso helped clear my head a little. Last night's dreams were filled with images of them tangled together. I'd woken to a wet pillow.

I stared at the message Tessa had sent at dawn—that damned heart emoji seemed to mock me.

But before meeting her, I needed to see how far Andrew could take his act.

I sat at the kitchen island, gripping my coffee cup so tight my knuckles turned white. "What would you do if I cheated on you?"

The spatula froze mid-air. Andrew turned slowly, something flickering in his brown eyes.

"What?"

"I mean... hypothetically." I tried to sound casual. "Would you forgive me?"

Bang! Andrew slammed the spatula down, batter splashing his apron. "Juliette, what are you really asking?"

"Nothing, I just watched this movie..."

"What movie makes you ask something like that?" His voice turned cold, like a blade scraping ice.

My heart pounded. What was he afraid of?

"Forget it. Pretend I didn't say anything."

Andrew strode over and cupped my face with his flour-dusted hands. "We don't need hypotheticals like that. I love you. Only you."

His eyes looked so sincere, so devoted. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I might have believed him again.

"You know what?" Andrew's thumb stroked my cheek. "Questions like that hurt. It's like you're doubting everything we have."

But everything we had was already a lie.

"I'm sorry." I lowered my head, lashes trembling.

"Silly." Andrew kissed my forehead and turned back to breakfast. "The doctor said you need to eat more. The baby needs nutrients."

The baby.

My hand unconsciously moved to my stomach. This child's father was a perfect liar.

I took a bite of waffle. It tasted like cardboard. All I could think about was—how could I make him show his true face?

After lunch, in the living room.

I pretended to read, but couldn't process a single word. Andrew sat on the opposite couch flipping through an architecture magazine. The hum of the AC filled the silence.

It was time.

"Andrew."

"Hmm?" He didn't look up.

Deep breath. Another deep breath.

"I got an anonymous email."

The magazine snapped shut. Andrew shot to his feet, face ashen. "What email?"

"It said you... said you were having an affair."

Crash! The glass on the coffee table toppled, water spreading everywhere. Andrew's face contorted. "What?! Who sent it?"

"I don't know..."

"I want to see that email! Now!" He was almost roaring, veins pulsing at his temples.

"It deleted automatically..."

"Then why would you believe it?!"

Smash! Another glass shattered, fragments flying. I instinctively shrank back.

"I didn't believe it! I just..."

"Just what?" Andrew advanced on me, eyes bloodshot. "Just doubting the person who saved your life?"

Saved my life. He always brought that up. Like a permanent get-out-of-jail-free card.

"Andrew, I..."

"Three years, Juliette! Three years!" His voice was shaking. "I prove my love every single day! Every day!"

Suddenly, he dropped to his knees.

His knees hit the floor with a thud. He grabbed my hands, gripping so tight, like a drowning man clutching driftwood.

"Please." His voice cracked. "Tell me you believe me."

I looked at the man kneeling before me. The perfect fiancé. The perfect actor. Tears blurred my vision—I couldn't tell if they were from rage or heartbreak.

"I..."

"Please." He buried his face in my palms, shoulders shaking. "I can't lose you. You and the baby are my whole world."

His tears dripped onto my hands, burning so hot I wanted to pull away.

"I believe you." I heard myself say.

Andrew's head snapped up, eyes red-rimmed. "Really?"

I nodded. He stood and pulled me into a crushing embrace, holding so tight I could barely breathe.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have lost my temper." He whispered in my ear. "But the thought of you doubting me, I just..."

You just immediately performed a breakdown, right?

"I know." I patted his back. "It was my fault."

He held me tighter, as if trying to absorb me into his body. We stood like that until my legs started to give out.

By evening, he said I needed rest—pregnant women shouldn't get too worked up. So now we're lying in the bedroom, him beside me, holding me close.

My head rests on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. This heart once stopped beating for me, now it races for someone else.

"You know what?" His hand strokes my hair. "During the bone marrow transplant, I almost died."

Here we go again. The gratitude card.

"The doctor said there was only a 60% success rate. My hands shook so badly when I signed the consent form."

I closed my eyes. Every fight, he brought this up.

"But seeing you survive made it all worth it." His voice was tender as poetry. "The best decision I ever made was saving you, then falling in love with you."

"Andrew..."

"You and the baby are everything to me." His hand slid to my stomach, reverent. "I swear, I will never betray you."

Every word cut like a knife.

Because just yesterday, he'd been fucking with Tessa in our bed. His "never" was so cheap.

I cried silently in his arms. Tears slid down my cheeks, dripping onto his shirt.

"Don't cry." Andrew kissed away my tears. "It's my fault for making you feel insecure."

No, it's because you're too good an actor.

"Oh, by the way." Andrew suddenly said. "Where are you and Tessa having tea tomorrow? I can drive you."

"The new café on Newbury Street." I fought to keep my voice steady.

"Oh, that one?" He ruffled my hair. "I heard it's nice. You two haven't had a good chat in a while."

"Yeah."

"Need me to drive you?" He asked so naturally, as if he hadn't been fucking her yesterday afternoon.

"No, I'll drive myself."

"That's fine." Andrew smiled. "Women need their private time. Maybe she can help talk some sense into you."

Talk sense? I looked up at him. His expression was calm, even wearing an indulgent smile.

"After all..." He leaned close to my ear, breath hot. "She knows me best."

Knows your body? Your techniques? Or how well you can lie?

"Andrew?"

"Hmm?" He blinked innocently.

"Nothing."

I buried my head back in his chest and closed my eyes. His embrace was still warm, but that "she knows me best" stuck like a thorn in my heart.

Tomorrow, I'm going to meet the woman who "knows my fiancé best."