AN AFFAIR WITH MY HUSBAND (SEVEN)

— TOBIAS—

I adjust my tie before slipping on my wristwatch. Anna is still asleep, turning with a loud yawn, so I decide against waking her. I put on my suit jacket, grab my suitcase, and leave the room.

“You're leaving?” Her voice makes me pause, and I turn to look at her.

“Yes, I’ll see you when I get back.” I smile at her.

“Good luck.” She groans and pulls the duvet over her face.

I take my leave, not bothering to initiate conversation or kiss her cheek. We weren't that lovey-dovey couple, anyway. She often complained about my distance.

Over the past year, I wouldn’t say I regret marrying her, but I can’t deny it hasn’t been what I hoped it would be after that first day. Flash marriages aren't something I’d recommend, especially if your wife is intent on changing her entire personality to please you.

We lived more like strangers, and I supported her in launching a clothing line just to keep her busy, preventing her from wasting her years on a marriage where I’m hardly present.

My mind drifts back to that night again and again. My once blurry memories have been replaced by the image of my current bride, and I find myself wishing that something, anything, could bring her back to the woman I fell for when we first met.

I consider breakfast but decide against it; I’m already ten minutes late for my first meeting of the day.

As I briefly glance at my wristwatch, the morning sunlight casts an orange glow on my Tom Ford black leather shoes.

I lift my gaze toward the window, and my breath hitches the moment my eyes meet hers. Her blue eyes are blissfully unaware of the effect she has on me as she opens the curtains gently, almost reverently.

Suddenly, I feel weak in the knees. The air-conditioned room, once cool, now feels stifling, and I stand there, frozen, practically gawking at her.

The last time I felt this way was a year ago at a club I shouldn’t have been in, with the woman I got married to.

She turns to me, biting her lower lip as she continues adjusting the curtains, using a chair to reach above. Her black uniform barely covers her thighs, her smooth, pale brown skin captivating me. I can’t help but imagine running my hands along her legs. My gaze travels upward, and I notice her collar is slightly unbuttoned. I can picture... I snap out of it immediately; I’m a married man.

For heaven's sake, I haven’t felt this way in months. My body responds to her, this woman in my living room that I barely know.

I bite my lip tightly as I prepare to leave, desperate to escape the embarrassment and fix the mess she’s made of my thoughts. Just then, I hear a loud thud. I turn to see her on the floor. Before I can process it, I’m walking over to her. I shouldn’t; I know I shouldn’t. However, I find myself helping her up, her touch sending goosebumps across my skin as I want nothing more than to disappear.

Her face flushes red as she quickly looks away, and I release her hands, trying to gain control of myself, my thoughts, and piece together the chaos she’s introduced into my mind.

“Sorry, I tripped,” she apologizes, her voice sending thrills through my body. She looks familiar—shockingly familiar—and the expression on her face as our eyes meet intrigues me. She seems to be trying to read me, her brows furrowed, her forehead creased, her eyes searching for answers.

I’m losing it under her gaze, and my eyes drift to her lips. I completely dismiss the idea of kissing her.

Sighing, I tear my gaze away and ask, “What’s your name, and what are you doing here?” I try to sound harsh, sharp even, and she blinks away from me.

“I’m Renee Wilson, the new permanent maid your wife hired.”

Anna didn’t tell me about this. She never tells me anything, always making decisions without consulting me and informing me at the last minute.

The thought fills me with a tinge of rage. I know that to salvage whatever remaining self-respect I have, I need to leave.

“Pleasure to meet you, Renee,” I say, glancing at her before tightening my grip on my briefcase. “Cover up while you’re working; it’s suffocating.” My tone is sharp as I briskly walk away before she can respond.

I can barely focus at work as my mind keeps drifting back to her. It feels like I’ve seen her somewhere before, but I can't quite place it. It’s been a long time since I entertained thoughts of other women besides Anna. Yes, I’m married, and I shouldn’t be thinking this way. I know that.

When I get home, Renee isn’t lurking around, and I’m relieved she’s not in sight. I go upstairs, and Anna is already back from work. I walk in to find her on the phone. She sees me from the balcony and approaches, wrapping me in a gentle hug. “Welcome back.”

“Thank you.” I nod and drop my briefcase on the couch before removing my tie and wristwatch, and then my suit. I pause midway, hearing her over the phone.

“Of course, he’d come. Goodnight, Mom. Take care.”

I turn to look at her, one eyebrow raised, trying not to jump to conclusions.

“Who were you speaking with?” I ask.

“Oh, it was Mom. She wants us to come over for dinner tomorrow.”

“What did you tell her?”

Anna taps her phone slowly. “That we’ll be there.”

This is something I’ve always hated—her making decisions without consulting me as if I’m just supposed to go along with whatever she wants, even if I’m uncomfortable.

“I’m not going,” I inform her as I remove my waistcoat and fold it next to my suit jacket.

“Why not? This is your family, Tobias. You can’t just cancel. Mom wants me to be there to help with the preparations and you’ll have to drive me.”

“Stop forcing this, Anna.” I snarl.

My family doesn’t like her; they’ve made that clear. Yet she keeps trying to win them over. I attended two dinners last month that she organized behind my back, but I’m done watching her serve my parents—who are barely present in my life—like a maid seeking their approval.

“I’m not forcing anything! We have to be there—it wouldn’t be a proper dinner without us.”

“It’s never really felt like ‘us,’ anyway,” I hiss, turning to leave the room before I completely lose my mind.