Hoax Husband - Candice M. Wright Page 0,66

and explained everything from the beginning, I’m guessing she thinks this whole thing was a ruse to get the resort, which we both know hasn’t been the case for a while.”

“Fuck. Go, I’ll head people off here and say your goodbyes for you. I’ll tell them Linda wasn’t feeling well. Find her and fix this.” He turns and heads back to the ballroom as I make my way to the cloakroom.

I hand the ticket to the bored-looking woman manning the desk and wait until she returns with Linda’s wrap. Shit, she ran out of here without it when it's freezing outside, making me feel like an even bigger asshole. I grab it and head out onto the street and text Davis, who thankfully must have been waiting nearby because he pulls up barely ten minutes later.

I slide into the back onto cold leather seats as the car pulls away. “Davis, have you seen Linda this evening?” I rush out—the need to find her clawing at my insides.

“Not since I dropped you off, sir, no. Is something wrong?” he asks, concerned.

“Just take me home, Davis, as quickly as you can.”

“Yes, sir, of course.”

The ten minutes it takes to get to my building are the longest ten minutes of my life. I hurry out of the car and into the building, where Thomas is at his post.

“Thomas, have you seen Linda tonight?” I bark at him.

“No, sir, but I’ve not long returned from my break.”

I don’t wait for him to say anything else, even as he calls after me. I run to the elevator and hit the button to the penthouse so hard my palm stings. The doors slide closed, showing me my harried reflection in the mirrored panels as I wait for the elevator to ascend slowly.

I didn’t hesitate to leave the gala, my instincts forcing me to find Linda and confront her, to get down on my knees and beg her to stay. But now self-preservation has kicked in, that same instinct is warning me that it won't be that easy. I’m left reeling at the knowledge that there is a possibility Linda won't listen to me, or worse, doesn’t believe me. But why would she when I lied to her from the start? Fuck, I have to try, I have to show her. Somehow, I’ll make her see that she is all that matters to me.

Six months ago, I would have balked at the idea of being happily married. I was jaded and pissed off, writing romance off as a whimsical farce, but the last six weeks have been the best of my life. Being with Linda didn’t take anything away from the man I was, it turned me into the man I was always meant to be.

Or at least should have been. My fear of losing her always prevented me from being upfront about my less than stellar intentions when I first sought her out, but because I hid that from her, I might lose her anyway.

When the elevator doors slide open, I stride to the apartment door with sweaty palms and a horrible sense of foreboding. Swinging the penthouse door open, I immediately know that she’s gone. The warmth that Linda brought here with her when she moved in has disappeared like she’s taken it with her, leaving this place as cold and as sterile as it had been before she arrived.

“Fuck,” I shout, slamming the door behind me as I head to the bedroom. Her rings and dress are on the bed where she tossed them. There are other traces of her here, her perfume on top of the dresser, her robe on the back of the door, but her clothes are gone from the closet, and the bathroom has been emptied of her things.

It's clear she left in a hurry, only taking what she could carry. I move to her studio and note that her art is still there, but on the floor is a torn canvas I hadn’t seen before. I bend and pick it up and stare down at the image and swallow hard. It's me, and it's clear that each brush and stroke had been made with love and reverence. Love and reverence that I shit all over, and like the broken picture in my hand, I destroyed everything.

Thirty-One

Linda

If I was hoping for an emotional reprieve when I woke up, I was to be sorely mistaken. The second I open my puffy eyes, I remember. The humiliation and pain are making space