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Cooking a fight

EMILY

My lips trembled as I struggled to reply.

I had no excuse. I hadn’t called him because I didn’t know him, and didn’t believe anyone would come and help me.

“What are you doing?” I heard Alexandro's voice snap as the door was yanked from Anthony.

“My shirt was stuck,” I lied. I didn’t want him to know I had met Anthony before, and I hoped Anthony kept his mouth sealed shut.

Alexandro offered his hand to me and I took it, letting him hold my hand all the way to our suit. We waved everyone goodnight. I didn’t look back at Anthony even as I felt his eyes creating a hole in my back.

My husband didn’t let go of my hands until we were in our suit, and even then, he didn’t let go. I had tried to gauge his mood on our way back, but I still couldn’t tell if he was mad or not.

I let go of his hand to hug him from behind, wrapping my arms tightly around him, hoping he wouldn’t unleash on me. We had left that level in our relationship and even if I always wagged my tongue about things going
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