Page 18 of Private High-Roller

“Fine.” I paste on a smile. It’s the same angle I’ve perfected through fifteen years as Mrs. Robert Matthews. “Just committee stuff.”

The lie comes out smooth. Easy. Natural.

And it makes me want to throw up.

Robert studies me for a beat longer than I’d like. Then he nods and returns to his phone. I’ve been performing for fifteen years, for Catherine Wellington and Carol Price and every charity board and country club function. I know how to wear a mask. I just never thought I’d wear one to lie to him.

I pick up my coffee with both hands to hide the trembling. The ceramic is still warm. Grounding.

I’m supposed to be honest with him. That’s the foundation underneath the hotwife label I just claimed with such confidence ten minutes ago. The reason this works, the reason we’re closer than we’ve been in years, is because I’m supposed to tell him everything.

Everything except the business conversations I overheard. Everything except this.

Two lies now. Two secrets sitting in my stomach like stones.

I stare out the kitchen window at our manicured backyard. The perfect lawn. The perfect house.

I’m a hotwife. I said it three times this morning and meant it with my whole heart.

I’m also a liar. And the worst part is how easily those two things coexist inside me.

I told Robert I’d always come home to him. I told him I’d share every detail. And I meant all of it.

But I also know, with a certainty that sits like ice in my belly, that I’m not going to stop going to the casino. Not for James. Not for anyone. What I found in Tony’s office is the first thing that’s made me feel alive in a decade, and I will not give it up.

I feel like an addict protecting her supply.

Just one more time.

I drain the last of my coffee. I’ll figure out what James knows. I’ll handle it. And then I’ll come clean.

That’s the lie I’m choosing to tell myself.

One more time.

The End