EIGHT

I plop back in bed with my hand on the forehead. I take a deep breath and calm myself down. Red is no longer here which gives me time to think. Yes, in this very same bed I did it last night.

"Oh God," I whisper, reliving every detail of the crime scene.

And like a fool I start, smiling, blushing even, everything Crystal clear in my head.

It was beautiful.

But you're a married woman, Mia! And he's your employee! Some voice snaps at me. I shriek inwardly.

I've never cheated on Patrick and we've been married for eight years. I'm freaked out, but do I regret it?

No, I don't.

Now where is Red? I collect the big duvet to my chest and slowly clamber out of bed. Oh yes, I can feel the aftermath of a good fuck as I walk.

My dress is on the couch, neatly placed.

Smiling, I pace toward the window to regard the beautiful sunshine. The day has begun, and town folks are up and about. I lean onto the window frame, watching my car parked in the same place we did yesterday.

And suddenly Red appears into view, taking my breath away. He is with an old man, who seems to be the mechanic judging from his direct gaze toward the car. They are talking while at it.

I blush right away, watching Red as he takes his phone and shows the old man something from it. I wonder what they're doing, but I'm pretty sure it has everything to do with the repair.

My phone buzzes out of the blue and I'm inclined to abandon the pleasure of ogling my bodyguard. Frowning, I follow the sound until I find my mobile. My smile fades instantly at the caller's ID.

It's my real husband.

I pick up his call.

"Patrick," I mutter unhappily.

I hear some noises in the background until Patrick snaps, "What do you think you're doing, Mia?" His voice is deathly cold and furious.

My body loses its momentum at Patrick's acute words. "W—what do you mean?" I ask nervously, my heart beating out of rhyme.

"You slept in some cheap hotel in the middle of nowhere! Seriously, why do I feel like you're doing everything possible to annoy me lately? Shit! You should've stayed at home, Mia. I've told you over a million times but no! You always find a way to defy me!" Patrick barks nonstop.

As for me, a big sigh of relief escapes my lungs. It's just Patrick being Patrick; his unduly vanity is always unchecked. He simply hates anything cheap.

"I think you're exaggerating," I retort while squeezing the duvet tight to my chest so it doesn't fall. I take a seat on the couch. "My car broke down and I needed a place to stay overnight while waiting for the mechanic to fix it."

Patrick huffs and I can perfectly imagine his baleful look. "You mean the piece of shit that belongs to the third grade junkyard? What the fuck, Mia! I bought you two decent cars! Fuck, why are you so obsessed with that trash?" he bellows with pure, undiluted contempt.

Well, that piece of shit is the car I bought with my own money! I don't care about his fucking Audi R8 or the BMW X7 . . . I'm so much in love with my baby that I feel hurt by his words.

"If you have called me all the way from Switzerland just to bad-mouth my car then I'll just hang up right this second and pretend I didn't hear your voice at all," I reply coolly, annoyed, my voice warning.

Patrick backs off. He knows I never bluff as far as our arguments are concerned. I hear him sighing out his frustration, heavily, and perhaps he's running a hand through his copper hair with faint grey strands.

"Fine," he says, and then sighs again. "Mia, let's sort this out, baby," he suddenly tells me, sounding desperate and lovelorn.

What the heck! A frown flits across my face.

"Sort what?" My voice is sharp.

"This situation we're in, Mia. I feel like I'm losing you and it's driving me nuts! Fuck, I can't lose you, baby. I'd rather burn the whole world and disappear within than lose you!" Patrick snaps, panting.

Oh no. I feel the shrill in my heart at this proclamation of his; it's somewhat eerie. I hold my tongue tight, unsure on how to respond.

"Look. When I come back home we can go on a vacation; just you and me, Mia. To the Bahamas, to Hawaii, or on a cruise to the Caribbean—just anywhere you want to be, sweetheart," he adds, and I swallow hard.

Maybe four months ago I'd be jumping with joy at the mention of any trip with him. I loved him that much, but now I feel nothing thrilling. I can't even stand being in the same room with him, alone.

Is it because I now desire another? I can't help but ponder, my mind blazed. But no. It all began when I realized I'm not the only one he touches, he kisses, and even fucks. The day I learned of his infidelity.

Evidently I had my suspicion as any woman in marriage. But imagining and actually seeing with your naked eyes are unfortunately poles different. I stopped feeling needy of him, and even more when Red appeared.

Red filled the gap I didn't know existed. His constant attention to every detail: my health, my security, my sleazy needs like a glass of water from the kitchen even when I choke with laughter while watching my favorite comedy movies.

Perhaps he's just doing his job, as he usually quips. But still I can't help feeling the sense of tenderness and sincerity in everything he does. He simply makes me feel like one in a million. Cheesy, I know, and it's seriously unbidden.

"Mia, baby, talk to me!" Patrick demands quietly.

I snap out of my reverie. "I don't think we should talk about this over the phone. Our issues are deeper than you let on, Patrick. And I think I—"

I think I want a divorce.

God, I'm so scared to even mention it. What will he say? How will this man react to this? I once tried to bring the subject up and he turned into a crazy bull. He smashed everything in the house just so he wouldn't break my face.

"What? Talk to me, baby," Patrick urges gently. "I know I've been horrible but I swear I'm not fooling around with anyone, Mia. I miss you like crazy. You've punished me enough, sweetheart, let's start over."

Yeah, it's sex that he misses. I curtain my eyes for a moment. He hasn't touched me for almost a month now. He's been in and out of Portland, constantly, and when he's back we'd do nothing but fight.

I rise up from the couch; mentally beat at this whole charade. I amble back toward the window, where I can see my bodyguard once again. He's right there, with the mechanic, working.

"It's pretty late here, I need to sleep," Patrick says, yawning soundly. Thank God! "I'll call you in the morning. Please get out of that place immediately!" he snaps.

"I'll leave once my car is fixed," I say feebly, my energy suddenly drained. I'm sure he's rolling his eyes at the mention of my car.

"I'll buy you another one, Mia. The same model as that. Will you stop using that junk then?" he asks, his tone hopeful.

He'll never understand me.

"Go to sleep, Patrick," I utter with an exhausted sigh, my eyes on the serious-looking man outside, his sight taking my breath away. He's now standing up, holding his waist while watching the old man who's inspecting the car engine. "Wait! And . . . How did you know I was in the hotel?" It suddenly crosses my mind.

"Red told me," Patrick answers curtly. "I love you, Mia. I fucking love you and don't you dare forget that. Be good." He doesn't last two seconds until he hangs up.

He knows I wouldn't reply.

"Red told him?" I feel perturbed, my gaze fixed on him. "Why did he tell him?" I think out loud, and suddenly he looks back at me from where he's standing.

Oh boy! Can he see me?

I mean, the window is glassed but still . . . Can he? His gaze is strong and intense, and I feel hypnotized. However it doesn't last long until he's back talking to the old man, and I take a deep breath.