Page 106 of Sin

I stare at the screen after I send it. Five simple words. Clean. Damning.

There’s no conference in Seattle. A networking event hosted by one of our retailers, yes. A panel on consumer trends. A private dinner I was invited to weeks ago and had no intention of attending.

Now it is an excuse.

Two rooms?

I close my eyes.

She knows the answer. So do I.

Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.

I never assume anything.

A laugh escapes me. It feels wrong, considering my wife is down the hall and my marriage is cracking open around me. But Laurel has a way of making me smile when no one else can. The smile fades as fast as it came as I look toward the bedroom door. Jenna is somewhere on the other side of this house, waiting for me to decide to talk. Waiting for me to be a husband. Waiting for whatever piece of me she still thinks belongs here.

And I am standing in our guest bedroom, texting Laurel about a hotel room in Seattle.

My phone buzzes again.

I’ll make the reservations.

I type back before guilt can stop me.

Good.

Then I set the phone face down on the nightstand like that erases anything. It doesn’t.

Nothing erases this. Not turning off the screen. Not putting my ring back on. Not sleeping in the same house as Jenna while wanting another woman so badly it feels like a sickness.

I lie down on the bed and stare at the ceiling until the dark starts to look gray around the edges, and all I can think about spending the entire weekend with Laurel.

The next morning, Jenna is in the kitchen when I come downstairs. She’s dressed for the day, hair pulled back, coffee in one hand. She stops when she sees my overnight bag in my hand. It’s strange. She doesn’t even seem to notice I left my wedding band upstairs on the nightstand.

“You’re leaving again?” she asks.

“Seattle,” I say. “Retailer event.”

Her mouth tightens. “And you were going to tell me when?”

I slip my phone into my pocket. “This morning.”

She laughs once, but there’s no humor in it. “Are you going alone?”

My pulse doesn’t change. That’s how far gone I am.

“No.”

Her face goes still. “Who’s going with you?”

I could say Laurel. It would even be easy. She’s the lead designer. It’s normal for her to attend retailer events. It would make sense. But Laurel’s name in this kitchen feels obscene.

“One of the product leads,” I say.

“Well, have a safe trip,” she says.

That is all. No kiss. No fight. No accusation. She picks up her coffee and walks out of the kitchen, leaving me standing there with the lie still warm in my mouth.