Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 105667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
I’ve never cheated on Shephard before. I’ve never even had the urge. For years, our marriage felt solid, built on a foundation of shared history, quiet companionship, and a love that, while perhaps not fiery, felt steady and true. We’ve had our ups and downs, of course. The usual ebb and flow of any long-term relationship. Money stresses, parenting disagreements, the natural drift of routine. But I never, ever thought I’d be the type to have an affair, to cross that line. It’s the kind of thing that happens to other people, in other relationships. Not mine. I thought I was better than that, stronger, more grounded. But here I am, sinking under the devastating consequences of my own choices, choices I never imagined I’d make, never dreamed I was capable of.
And it was so easy. Too easy. I barely thought of him, of Shephard, in those moments. It was like when Saint was around, when his intensity filled the space, Shephard was out of sight, out of mind. Why? Why was it so simple to betray the man I vowed to cherish? The man sitting just inches from me, oblivious.
“Are you even listening?” Shephard’s voice, sharper than I expected, slices through my thoughts. He’s looking at me now, his laptop half closed on his knees, a flicker of irritation in his eyes.
“What?” I force my gaze from the flickering screen to his face. “Sorry. Just . . . tired.” The lie is instant, automatic.
He sighs, a small, weary sound. “I was just saying, I finally got our expense report done, but I want to make sure I have every bill listed before I meet with the accountant. So if you’re feeling up to it, maybe you could look over some of it before me and the girls head out in the morning?” His tone is carefully neutral, but I catch the subtle dip in his voice on “if you’re feeling up to it,” a barbed wire wrapped in concern.
A familiar resentment prickles. His moods seem to ebb and flow with the fluctuations of my career. When my books were flying off shelves, when the advances were big, he was my biggest cheerleader, and subtly, my manager, my financial advisor, taking pride in our success. But now, with the backlash from my last book, with the cancel culture biting hard, with my creative well feeling dry for months . . . now it’s different. The pride has curdled into something else. And he acts like he’s some martyr, saving us from my bad choices.
It’s like he wants to own my successes, but when I fail, those are all on me.
“Money trouble is the last thing I need in my brain, Shephard,” I say, my voice tighter than I intend. “That’s why I came to the cabin, to try and solve our money issues. Going over them in detail will just make my writer’s block worse.”
He raises an eyebrow, a sardonic curve to his lips. “Right. Well, the well’s looking a little dry, Petra, and I can’t keep hoping you’ll find inspiration. Good intent doesn’t pay the bills. Producing something does.”
“For your information, I’ve written over half a book since I got here. Thanks for asking. I’ve been in a groove until . . .”
Shephard sets his phone down beside him. “Until we showed up?”
I sigh. “I’m due to be home for Chloe’s birthday next weekend for two whole days. I don’t know why you thought it was a good idea to interrupt two more of my writing days. That means I’ll get three writing days out of the whole week, tops. It’s not enough, and I can’t just switch it on and off.”
“The girls missed you,” he says, his words sharp. “Sorry you have people who love you.” He stands up, heading toward the kitchen.
“That’s not . . .” Ugh. I drop my hands to the couch on either side of me and groan. “That’s not fair. Writing is a weird beast, and you know I work best when I have stretches of solitude. I love you, and I love my girls, but it’s like you can’t even get through a week without needing me to give you a reprieve. When do I get my reprieve?”
“How many episodes of Love Island have you watched since you’ve been here? You can’t tell me you actually spend all day every day writing. I’ve been working, watching the girls, all while trying to figure out how to get our finances in order for our meeting with the accountant. Sorry if I can’t understand how a vacation in a . . .” He looks around. “You can’t even call this a cabin. A vacation in a dream home can in any way be torture. All I asked is for you to look at some numbers. My bad. I’ll do it myself.”