The Mistress

Zachary fell silent on the other end of the line and Grace could only cover her mouth to stifle her laughter.

“Grace.”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

“I know you do.” She grinned to herself, having much too much fun teasing her husband.

“So you’re enjoying the latest work of Ms. Sutherlin? Sounded like it from how breathlessly you answered the phone.”

“Love it. I slept with her editor to get an advance copy.”

Grace stood up and found an empty glass. She tucked the phone under her ear while she filled it with water. Her little reading session had been a workout. Nora’s books left her as breathless as her characters.

“Should I be worried that my wife is reading Nora Sutherlin’s books?”

“Why? Because she’s Nora Sutherlin the writer or because she’s Nora Sutherlin the woman you slept with last year?”

“Can you tell me the right answer before I give my answer?”

“‘Neither’ is the right answer. You have nothing to worry about.”

“My wife is masturbating to my ex-lover’s books. Nothing good can come of this.”

“Orgasms came of it.”

“Other than that.”

“Your wife knows her husband is in love with her and is devoted to their marriage. Your wife knows that Nora Sutherlin isn’t a threat to her marriage. And your wife knows all of this even knowing her husband still carries a torch for Ms. Nora Sutherlin.”

“Now that’s not true at all. I adore her, yes, even if she will be the death of me someday. But the feelings are entirely of the friendship variety. Nothing more.”

“It must be so much easier to lie to me on the phone instead of face-to-face.” Grace pulled the covers down on the bed and slipped in.

“It is, come to mention it.”

Grace sighed as she pulled her leg to her chest and rested her chin on her knee.

“I borrowed your coat the other day. Your gray trench. Couldn’t find mine and it was raining. Stuck my hand in the pocket and guess what I found?”

She almost laughed aloud at the sound of Zachary’s heavy guilty sigh coming from the other side of the world.

“A black tie?”

“A black tie … that for some reason smelled of hothouse flowers. I only ever remember meeting one person in my entire life with that scent on her. Beautiful woman with green eyes and black hair and spectacular cleavage. Sound familiar at all?”

“Vaguely familiar.”

Grace remembered how her hand had trembled when she saw the black silk tie, smelled it. That day she met Nora, she remembered that scent, the scent of flowers that thrived in captivity even if they didn’t belong there.

“She put it in my pocket, and I didn’t know she’d done it. It was a joke, not some precious souvenir.”

“And you kept it in your pocket for over a year because …?”

“You never know when you’ll need a spare tie.”

Grace stopped talking and took a drink of her water.

“Are you angry?” Zachary asked, and she heard real concern in his voice. They teased each other often about that year they spent apart, he in America, she still in London. That year had been so hard and so hellish for the both of them that the only way they could face the memory of it was by mocking it, defying it to have any power over their marriage.

“No, I’m not angry. I think I’d worry about you if you weren’t still attracted to her. My only worry is …”

“What?”

“I’m sure this won’t make any sense but … do you miss her? Or do you miss it? Nora’s quite specific. There’s no one like her so I understand if you miss her. But if you miss it, miss the sort of sex you had with her that you and I don’t have, then I’d be worried.”

“I miss her,” he said, and Grace believed him. “I won’t lie. She and I had an amazing passionate night together. I saw another world with her, a world I never even dreamed existed. It was eye-opening to say the least, and I’m certainly glad I got to see it. But it’s not my world. You’re my world.”

“You’re my world, too,” she confessed, smiling through tears. They’d only been apart two days and she was already getting emotional and maudlin. Damn Zachary for being so lovable, so missable.

“So we’re all right? You forgive your husband for occasionally having fond reminisces about a wild American girl he once—”

“Once?”

“Or twice. Or … more than twice.”

“It’s unfair. I know I’m supposed to be jealous that you had a night of sex with a beautiful woman who writes torrid books and lives a scandalous life,” she said in her most dramatic Masterpiece Theater voice. “But really I’m jealous that you got to see that world. What does she call it?”

“The Underground.”

“Yes, you got to see the Underground. S&M clubs and Dominatrixes and wealthy and powerful deviants. Meanwhile, I was falling asleep in my tea while Ian droned on about bloody exchange rates.”

“So you’re telling me that you’re not jealous that I slept with Nora Sutherlin and still miss her from time to time. You’re jealous that I had more fun committing adultery than you did.”

“Entirely correct.”

“You’re not far from the city. Call Nora. Tell her to show you the Underground. Have some fun adultery for once.”

Grace felt her conscience bite her. Not much of a bite. More a nibble.

“I did call Nora already,” Grace confessed. “Got her voice mail. Thought we could meet for a drink.”

“Nora doesn’t have one drink. She has drinks—plural. And kinks—plural. Be prepared for a long night if you end up in the passenger seat of her car.”

“I’ll say my prayers. Are you sure you’ll be fine with me spending some time with her?”

She heard him sigh and her heart clenched to hear it. She could picture his face right now, so striking with his ice-blue eyes and thoughtfully furrowed brow.