Page 66 of Angels Are Falling

“Should I put the leftovers away?” Dan asked from the kitchen archway.

I didn’t have the heart to tell him this wasn’t leftovers. I hadn’t eaten anything yet. Dinner was set an hour ago, the time Stefan promised to be home. But he stood me up, which was becoming the recurring theme in our relationship.

Dan left after setting the table, returning when he anticipated we’d finish dinner. But Stefan never showed, and I’d been staring at the food for the past hour. Dan thrived on positive feedback, and not eating his precious meal was the ultimate insult. To save the poor chef’s feelings, I placed some of the food on my plate. It remained untouched. I didn’t want to offend him, but I had long made a pact with myself—I’d never eat dinner alone.

Dan hovered politely. I didn’t want to bore him with my woes, and though I wanted the company, I didn’t ask him to join me, either. The staff at my old home hated it when I put them in that position. Employees of a certain bracket preferred clear boundaries with their employers.

“You can go home. I’ll clean up.” I kept a smile plastered to my face until he was out of sight.

My phone was face down on the table. I refused to look at it for the millionth time. I’d already scrolled through Stefan’s social media, hoping for a geotag. Because that was what I had been reduced to—getting updates on Stefan’s whereabouts from Instagram.

A door slammed somewhere in the cavernous hallway. A male voice echoed as it approached. Stefan was on the phone. His blazer was draped over one arm, and his salmon-colored shirt was wrinkled after a long day.

My heart fluttered for a second. I almost forgot how incredibly beautiful he was when life wasn’t being sucked out of him by a dead-end job. Locks of brown hair, with texture that came from a two-hundred-dollar haircut, fell over his lively brown eyes. The long day at the office hadn’t dampened his energy or his boyish good looks. I guess that was what happened when you loved your job.

He never looked so content in our old lives, I thought dejectedly. I knew he was unhappy, but I didn’t realize the extent of it until seeing how quickly he embraced our new fortunes.

His face brightened when his gaze landed on me. “Hi, baby.” He hung up the phone and set the blazer down on a chairback. Stefan poured himself a glass of the wine I’d already opened and kissed me before I could go off on him. Lowering himself onto the seat next to mine, he glanced at the spread that could feed a small army. “Are you having someone over for dinner?”

My grip tightened around my glass. It was humiliating enough that my husband stood me up, but to forget our plans altogether was twisting the knife in my heart.

“Yes. You!”

I saw it, the moment he remembered our date. He blinked, head leaning back. He looked at the dishes and the untouched food on my plate. “Fuck.”

“Yes, Stefan, fuck. I can’t believe you stood me up again.”

Standing from his chair, he came around to hug me from behind. I was tense, my back ramrod straight. “I’m so sorry, baby. I forgot.”

Forgot? He had a calendar and could have penciled in our date so he’d remember. Or was I not important enough to be scheduled?

“I’ve been working around the clock for this trip. You know that.”

Yet he had time to hang out with his friends and Ruby.

“I’m stressed out,” he continued. “I still need to approve the locations, and our third shooter backed out. The scheduling has been a mess.”

“And that makes it okay to stand up your wife without so much as a text?” Would it have killed him to call?

He sighed. “Of course not. I hate this, Am. I hate not being with you.”

Then why are you doing this to us? I wanted to shout but pursed my lips instead.

“I just can’t have my first project be a failure. Please try to understand.” He leaned down and kissed my neck. It was our first physical contact in so long. Even though I was furious, I leaned into the embrace, melting into him because I was starved for his touch. “Everyone’s looking at me and expecting me to fail. I have to prove them wrong.”

It sucked that I understood where he was coming from. For the first time in his life, Stefan was doing something he loved. He was leaving for Dubai this weekend and leading his first project as the magazine’s president. The weight of expectations was a lot to carry on your shoulders, especially when you were new at a high-power job and hadn’t proved your worth. It was no wonder he had tunnel vision about work and was scatterbrained about everything else.

“You missed the amuse-bouche,” I said grumpily as some of my ire seeped out. “It was served fresh. The chef said it was a tribute to a Michelin restaurant in Tokyo.”

“Sounds like my loss.”

“It was. You insulted Dan by not showing up, so he’ll never make it again.” The words sounded petulant, but I was allowed that much grace.

“I’ll have to send Dan my apologies and convince him to change his mind.” A hint of amusement laced his voice.

“It better be a good apology.”

“I’ll send him a card.”