What would you like to know? How long have you been together? We met in high school. Started dating in college. Married right after graduation.
So, almost 18 years together, 12 of them married. Mark nodded slowly. And were you happy? Before this? The question made me pause.
Was I happy? Had we been happy? I thought we were, I said finally. Not perfect, but solid. David was always ambitious, always working toward the next thing, promotion, bonus, bigger house.
Sometimes I felt like I was part of his life plan rather than his partner, but… I shrugged. I accepted that as his nature. And you? What’s your nature? I smiled slightly.
Are you analyzing me, counselor? Professional habit. He apologized. No, it’s fine.
I considered the question seriously. I’m a planner too, but different from David. I care about creating spaces where people feel at home, comfortable.
In my work and in my personal life. Hence the interior design career. Exactly.
Our first courses arrived, antipasto for him, caprese salad for me. We ate in silence for a few moments. Your turn, I said eventually.
Tell me about your marriage. Mark set down his fork and took a sip of wine before answering. Elise and I met at a charity function in Boston.
I was 32, just made partner at my firm. She was 26, working in public relations. Beautiful, charismatic, ambitious.
A shadow crossed his face. We had good years. Built a life, raised our daughter.
But somewhere along the way, we started wanting different things. What did she want? Status. Recognition.
The right address, the right friends, the right vacations to post on Instagram. His tone wasn’t bitter, merely factual. And I wanted… What? I prompted when he trailed off.
Mark gestured vaguely. Something authentic. I grew up with very little.
My father was a factory worker, my mother a teacher’s aide. I worked my way through college and law school. The trappings of wealth were never my motivation.
Hence the photography, I said. He looked surprised. You know about that? I did my research before contacting you.
Your work is beautiful. A genuine smile briefly transformed his face. Thank you.
It’s my escape. Elise calls it my hobby, but it’s more than that. It’s the one thing I do solely for myself.
I’d like to see more of it sometime, I said, surprising myself with the sincerity of the statement. The main courses arrived, interrupting the moment. Over pasta and risotto, we shifted to discussing our plan for Thursday night.
Mark had indeed refined my original idea, adding nuanced details that balanced impact with discretion. The key, he explained, is to control the narrative. We don’t want to appear as victims or scorned spouses creating a spectacle.
We want to project calm strength. We’re two adults who discovered a betrayal and are handling it with dignity. While still ensuring they feel the full weight of what they’ve done, I added.
Precisely. Mark’s eyes met mine over the rim of his wineglass. The greatest power in any confrontation is staying composed while the other party loses control.
By the time we finished dinner and shared a tiramisu, his suggestion, they make a table side, it’s quite something, I felt a curious connection forming between us. Not romantic, we were both far too raw for that, but a kind of allied understanding. Two people thrust together by circumstance, finding unexpected common ground.
As we walked to our cars afterward, Mark said, Thank you for tonight, Catherine. It’s been, unexpectedly pleasant, given the circumstances. I was thinking the same thing.
I hesitated. It’s strange, isn’t it? If not for our spouse’s betrayal, we’d probably never have had a conversation beyond small talk at a company function. Life’s little ironies.
He stopped beside my car. I’ll contact you tomorrow with the final arrangements for Thursday. If you change your mind about any of this, just say the word.
I won’t change my mind. He studied me for a moment. No, I don’t believe you will.
Then, formally, good night, Catherine. Good night, Mark. Driving home, I wondered what David would say if I told him I’d just had dinner with Mark Carrington.
The thought almost made me laugh, a sharp, slightly hysterical sound in the quiet car. I was living a double life now too, keeping secrets, making plans in the shadows. The difference was, my secrets were about to bring everything into the light.
Wednesday crawled by with excruciating slowness. I moved through my daily routines like an actress playing the role of Catherine Moore, devoted wife. I prepared breakfast, kissed David goodbye as he left for work, attended client meetings, sketched design concepts, and returned home to make dinner.
All while carrying the weight of knowing that tomorrow night, everything would change. David seemed different too, though I doubted he realized it. More attentive, perhaps compensating for what he planned to do the following evening.
He brought home flowers, lilies, my favorite, and suggested we watch that British detective series I’d been wanting to see. You’ve seemed distant lately, he said as we cleaned up after dinner. Everything okay? The question nearly broke my composure.
The audacity of his concern, his pretense of being the caring husband while planning to meet his mistress the very next night. Just busy with the Hendersons project, I lied. Their renovation is getting complicated.
Don’t work too hard. He kissed my temple. I worry about you sometimes.
I almost laughed in his face. Instead, I leaned into the kiss and murmured agreement. That night, as David slept beside me, I received a text from an unknown number.
Arrangements confirmed for tomorrow. Table reserved under my name for 7.30 p.m. We’ll send car for you at 7. M.C. I deleted the message immediately. Thursday morning dawned bright and clear.
David was unusually particular about his appearance, spending extra time on his hair, selecting one of his best suits. Important client meeting? I asked innocently, watching him from the bedroom doorway. Just a dinner thing, he replied vaguely.
Might run late, don’t wait up. Should I be jealous? I forced a teasing tone. David crossed the room and wrapped his arms around me.
Never. You’re the only woman in my life. He kissed me deeply, and I kissed him back while my stomach churned with disgust, both for him and for myself, playing this charade.
After he left, I threw up in the bathroom, heaving until there was nothing left but bitter bile. Then I showered, washing away the feeling of his hands, his lips, his lies. The day passed in a blur of activities that required just enough focus to keep me from completely unraveling.
I cancelled my afternoon appointments, unable to maintain the pretense of normality any longer. At 5 p.m., I began preparing. I chose my outfit carefully, a deep burgundy dress that I knew highlighted my best features without appearing as though I was trying too hard.
Professional makeup, elegant but understated jewelry. Hairstyle to frame my face. The overall effect was confident, composed, perhaps even intimidating.
Exactly what I needed to be. At 7 p.m. sharp, my phone buzzed with a text, car waiting outside. I took one last look around our home, the space I’d lovingly designed over the years, filled with memories and mementos of a marriage I now understood had been built on quicksand.
I wondered if I would ever return here, and if so, under what circumstances. Then I grabbed my purse and walked out the door. A sleek black car was idling at the curb, driver standing beside it.
He opened the door for me, and I slid into the back seat to find Mark already inside. Catherine. He nodded in greeting, looking impeccable in a charcoal suit.
You look formidable. That was the goal. I studied him in return.
As do you. The drive to Oriole was mostly silent, both of us seemingly lost in our thoughts, mentally preparing for what lay ahead. Only as the car pulled up to the restaurant did Mark speak again.
Last chance to reconsider. I met his gaze steadily. Are you having second thoughts? No.
His answer was immediate. But this will change everything, for all of us. I want to be certain you’re ready for that.
I thought of David’s kiss that morning, his declaration that I was the only woman in his life, the casual ease of his deception. I’m ready, I said firmly. Let’s go.
Mark nodded once, then offered his arm as we exited the car. Together, we walked into the restaurant, exactly on schedule for our reservation, and thirty minutes before our spouses were due to arrive. Everything was going according to plan.
Oriole was exactly the type of restaurant David would choose for an illicit meeting, upscale but not ostentatious, with a reputation for discretion and a layout that offered secluded corners for intimate conversations. Soft lighting cast a flattering glow over the diners, and the ambient noise level provided privacy without requiring whispers. The maitre d greeted Mark by name, apparently he was known here, and led us to our table, positioned exactly as I’d hoped, around a slight corner from the main dining room, with a clear view of the entrance and, most importantly, the table directly adjacent to ours.
That table, their usual spot, according to David’s messages, remained empty, awaiting its 8 p.m. reservation. Champagne to start? Mark suggested as we settled in. When I nodded, he ordered a bottle of Veuve Cliquot.
To steady the nerves, he explained when the waiter had gone. Though you appear remarkably calm. Appearances can be deceiving.
I smoothed my napkin across my lap. My heart is racing. As is mine.
His admission surprised me, he seemed so composed. But we’ve come this far. No turning back now.
The champagne arrived, and we went through the motions of ordering appetizers neither of us would likely remember eating. The minutes ticked by with excruciating slowness. I checked my watch repeatedly, earning a gentle look from Mark.
Try to appear engaged in our conversation, he advised. We want them to see us enjoying ourselves, not anxiously awaiting their arrival. I nodded and made a conscious effort to relax my posture.
Tell me about your daughter, I suggested. You mentioned she’s at Columbia? Mark’s expression softened, as it had before when discussing his child. Sophia.
She’s in her 11th grade. Brilliant girl, takes after her mother in looks but thankfully got my common sense. His wry tone made me smile despite my tension.
Do you have a picture? He pulled out his phone and showed me a photo of a striking young woman with dark hair and her father’s intense blue eyes, smiling beside Mark. She’s beautiful, I said sincerely. She’s the one thing I got right, he replied, putting the phone away.
Whatever happens with Elise and me, Sophia remains my priority. Does she know about your marital problems? She knows things aren’t ideal between her mother and me, but not specifics. She’s focused on her studies right now, and I… He stopped abruptly, his gaze shifting to a point over my shoulder.
They’re here. My pulse spiked. I forced myself not to turn around immediately, instead taking a deliberate sip of champagne.
Together? I asked quietly. No. Just your husband.
He’s speaking with the host. Mark’s expression remained neutral, but I caught the slight tightening around his eyes. Now he’s being led to the table behind you.
He hasn’t noticed us yet. I gradually shifted in my chair, angling myself so I could see without being obvious. David was indeed being seated at the adjacent table, his back partially to us, checking his watch and scanning the restaurant entrance, looking for Elise.
Shall we wait for her arrival, or make our presence known now? Mark asked, his voice low. I considered. Let’s wait.
I want to see their faces when they first see each other, that moment of private conspiracy before they realize they’ve been discovered. Mark nodded approval. Patience rewards the prepared.
We continued our performance of normal dinner conversation, discussing safe topics like favorite films and travel destinations, all while hyper-aware of David’s proximity. He ordered a scotch and checked his phone repeatedly, clearly anxious about Elise’s whereabouts. At 8.15, she arrived.
I recognized her immediately from the company party and the photos in her Instagram feed. Elise Carrington made an entrance even when she wasn’t trying, tall, curvaceous, with glossy dark hair cascading over her shoulders. She wore a sleek blue dress that hugged her figure and heels that clicked confidently across the floor as she approached David’s table.
His face lit up when he saw her, an expression of genuine delight that stabbed me through the heart. He stood, greeting her with a kiss that lingered just a moment too long for business acquaintances, his hand resting possessively at the small of her back as she sat. Well, Mark murmured, watching them with narrowed eyes.
There it is. I couldn’t look away as David leaned close to Elise, saying something that made her laugh and touch his arm. The easy intimacy between them told a story of many such meetings, many such touches.
Ready? Mark asked, his voice steady despite the slight tremor I detected in his hand as he set down his champagne glass. I took a deep breath and nodded. Ready? Mark stood and extended his hand to me, helping me from my chair.
Together, we stepped the short distance to the adjacent table, appearing suddenly in David and Elise’s line of sight. The effect was immediate and dramatic. David froze mid-sentence, his face draining of color as he registered my presence.
Beside him, Elise’s eyes widened in shock as she recognized her husband. David, I said pleasantly. What a surprise running into you here.