Chapter 2

Emma shoved Steve's uneaten breakfast into the garbage disposal with the remnants of the boys' meal, feeling a little too much satisfaction as the sound of the grinding blades filled the room. Was it evil of her to imagine his face sliding into the disposal?

Maybe.

She sighed as she bent to put syrup lathered plates into the dish washer. She loved her husband, really she did. Every time he looked at her with those amazing blue eyes, her heart still skipped a beat. She just wished that he still felt the same way.

They hadn't had sex in months. In fact, she could distinctly remember the last time. They were in the Turks and Caicos Islands, celebrating their wedding anniversary. He spent nearly the whole time on his cellphone while she went scuba diving, took hikes with a local guide, and explored the local markets. Only on the last night of their trip did he seem to have time for her. And even that felt more like an afterthought than anything else.

They went to dinner at the resort. She drank too much. Alcohol always made her a little flirty. It was how she got over her inhibitions in high school, how she made it through the awkwardness of sorority parties in college. And the endless business dinners she had attended over the past decade. That night, it made her seduce the only man she had ever wanted.

She thought about it now, thought of how distracted he was throughout the meal. She knew he had just been elected mayor and it was an intimidating experience. The timing had been extremely bad, but her parents had given them the trip as a gift, a gift they really couldn't afford. They couldn't refuse it. But still-she had only wanted his attention for a few hours.

He couldn't even give her that much.

Emma dropped another plate into the dishwasher, a few forks and that cursed spatula, remembering the smile Steve offered to the pretty waitress at the resort restaurant when she gathered the last of their dishes, and how it disappeared when his eyes fell on Emma. She remembered, too, how his hands on her body that night were impatient, as though he was simply fulfilling another responsibility that he neither wanted nor enjoyed.

When had he stopped wanting her?

When they began dating, he couldn't keep his hands off of her. Emma could remember having to push him away time and time again because she wasn't ready for that level of intimacy. But once he introduced her to it, once he showed her how amazing it could be, neither of them could get enough. The majority of the first year of their marriage was spent in bed.

She remembered being happy. Remembered that he seemed happy, too.

Those first years were so different. He had a nine to five job, selling software for a big telecommunications company. She worked for a small advertising firm. They had little money, but they were happy. He was home every night. They would make dinner together, talk about their day, inevitably drifting off to bed instead of watching television or going out with their many married friends.

And then she got pregnant.

It was like a switch turned on inside of Steve. He was suddenly driven to make as much money as he could. He began working overtime, taking on bigger territories, pushing sales with an aggression he had not shown before. And when they had enough savings, he quit his job and started his own software company. Steve designed and sold smartphone apps before smartphones were a household word. He created business related apps at first, apps that helped executives plan and get through their days. Then he expanded, moving with the market and the growing popularity of the phones.

As a business man, he was brilliant.

As a father, he was absent.

Steve's company grew and he began branching out, buying up internet startups and either incorporating their products into his own company or reselling them for huge profits. He invested in real estate, bought stocks like a Wall Street broker, made investments in things she had never heard of, let alone understood. By the time Seth began kindergarten, Justin toddling behind, Steve had made several million and moved them into this much too big, much too luxurious house.

Emma glanced around herself, crossing her arms over her chest again. She loved this room, she had to admit that. She had never been much of a cook, but she liked the open feel of the room. And she loved the layout of the great room and that the kids had a little over an acre to play on in the backyard. And who wouldn't like the huge walk-in closets and the separate playroom where the kids could make a mess and she could simply close the door and not see it?

But she would give it all up to go back to those early days of her marriage when they co-existed in an eight hundred square foot, one bedroom apartment.

Whenever she complained to Steve that he was never around, he would tell her that he was providing for their family. "You like the diamonds and Dior and Valentino, don't you?" he would ask. Yes, she liked those things. But she loved her husband.

At least, she thought she still did.

Some days, she wasn't sure anymore.

Emma wiped down the counters, the table, and turned on the dishwasher. She had a maid, a local woman who came in three times a week. The woman, Lisa, was nice enough, but it made Emma feel scrutinized to have someone clean her house. She still, even after all this time, felt the need to clean the house before Lisa came over, as ridiculous as that seemed. Despite the wealth, the things that Steve had given her, she was still the daughter of a high school English teacher.

Emma tossed the dishrag into the sink and headed upstairs for a shower. Her cell rang as she walked into the bedroom. She answered it as she yanked open the heavy drapes over the sliding glass doors that led out to their private balcony.

"Hey, chica!"

"Jen," Emma breathed, a smile touching her lips for the first time all day.

"Do you have time for lunch?"

"No, I've got a contractor coming over later."

"For what?"

"My darkroom."

"Oh, is the miser finally going to allow you to build that?"

"I don't really care. I'm doing it anyway."

Jen groaned. "Emma"

"Don't lecture me, Jen. You know I love you, but he owes me this."

"Yes, he does."

Emma sank down onto the end of the bed. "I didn't sign up for this, Jen."

"I know. Neither did I." There was silence on the other end of the line for a brief moment. "Do you know that Ray dragged me to this dinner the other night and he made me wear this tight, short skirt just so that his boss would flirt with me? You know I don't mind looking sexy and flirting, but"

"Yeah," Emma agreed. "It makes you feel-"

"Used," Jen said. "I just keep telling myself that one of these days our husbands will be these hugely important men and we'll be able to have as many playthings as we want."

Emma laughed. She had been roommates with Jen in college. Steve and Ray played football together. The four of them had been practically inseparable since the moment they met at orientation. Ray was a lot like Steve, a good looking, athletic type with a heart of gold. And ambition. Ray was a lawyer with a big firm in Denton. They handled all the criminal cases that passed through the local courts, making headlines practically on a daily basis. And, as though that was not enough, Ray had been talking for years about his desire to run for public office. Wanted to be the district attorney. Or the state's attorney. Maybe even the governor, someday. Emma was convinced it was Ray who had gotten Steve to run for mayor. They had always been competitive.

As much like Steve as Ray was, Emma and Jen were perfect opposites. Where Emma had been shy and reserved in both high school and college, Jen was an in-your-face, outgoing kind of person. Where Emma had only been with Steve, Jen was very open about her many sexual conquests since she lost her virginity at fourteen. Proud of them, really. And Jen was so beautiful, with blond hair and intense blue eyes, she had a look that was so classic that people couldn't help but stare when she walked into a room.

Emma-she wasn't anything like Jen.

"You're beautiful," Steve used to tell her when she compared herself to Jen. But all Emma saw was the too pale skin that seemed to come hand in hand with her deep, almost mahogany, red hair. Her breasts were too full, her waist not as tiny as she would like it to be. The only feature of her own that Emma liked were her green eyes. They were a little too wide set, but they were a perfect green, almost like the exquisite, square cut emerald Steve had given her the day Justin was born.

"So have lunch with me tomorrow, instead."

"Hmm?" Emma pulled herself back to the conversation. "Yes, tomorrow would be perfect, actually. I have some shopping I need to do."

"Good. We'll go into Dallas and make a day of it. I'll pick you up at nine."

Jen hung up before Emma could agree, or disagree. Typical Jen. Once she had made up her mind, that was it. No arguing.

Emma put down her phone and began to undress, wishing she could be as decisive as her friend. Wished she was as beautiful as Jen, as confident as Jen. Wished she was as comfortable with all the trappings of wealth and their husbands' careers. Jen would leave dishes sitting in the sink for weeks while her maid was out of town. Not that she and Ray cooked much. And she never thought twice about dropping fifty thousand or more on a new piece of jewelry or new clothes or a quick trip to Vegas. Emma felt guilty over every penny she spent on herself.

She sighed as she climbed into the shower.

She would never be more than what she was. A cliché.

An unhappy, bored housewife.