Unfaithful - Natalie Barelli Page 0,36

to be peer-reviewed and validated. But I also know this won’t be the case here because this proof—? Its beauty lies in its simplicity. It’s the kind of proof that someone might review and wonder why no one had thought of it before, because it’s just so obvious.

But I don’t spend these long weeks of waiting idly. Instead, I devote them to the other part of my plan: to f. Turns out there’s no shortage of information on the internet about how to do exactly that, and I’m good at research. Over the next few weeks I become not someone else exactly, but someone better. More devoted, kinder, more patient. Happy. I make myself look deliriously happy every time he walks into a room. I ask him about his work, I laugh with delight at his success, I nuzzle his neck and tell him he’s handsome, I cook his favorite meals, I rub my nails lightly over his back when he looks stressed. I put candles out on the back deck after the children go to bed and invite him to watch the stars with me over a glass of wine; I buy sexy underwear and make love to him every night.

And I watch him like a hawk, that goes without saying. I haven’t been able to access his texts again, but I pay close attention to his moods and take the occasional peek at his emails.

I make notes of my progress. “I like this dress on you, it’s nice,” he said the other day, with a cheeky smile. Unprompted, he will bring me a glass of wine when I’m preparing dinner. He talks to me. And he listens. He’s become more attentive, more relaxed and flirty. I call all these things successes in their own right. I’m winning. I’m no longer a team player, I’m a winner.

Then, this morning, five weeks after I submitted it, I receive the call from the journal to congratulate me. The solution has been reviewed and accepted and will be published next month. “Its publication will allow you to claim the Pentti-Stone prize from the Leo Forrester Foundation,” they added.

It’s official, I have solved the Pentti-Stone conjecture.

And just like that, everything changes. My doubts, my fears, vanish with that phone call. I don’t care if it’s Alex’s proof—it’s mine too. I put the phone down and stare at my hands, reminding myself that I came up with the final piece of the puzzle. I banish the voices in my head for good and after a few minutes of silence, I go to Geoff’s office with a grin on my face and butterflies in my stomach. June raises an eyebrow at me and I put one finger to my lips and wink at her. Then I walk in, close the door after me and lean against it.

“You’ll never guess what happened,” I say. Then I tell him. He doesn’t believe me at first, understandably. Little old me, minute-taker-gofer-errand-loser with no ambition whatsoever suddenly solves a major math problem out of thin air.

I pull out the chair opposite his desk. “They’re publishing it next month. I just got the call from the journal. Then an email from the Leo Forrester Foundation who want to come here, to the university I mean, and formally present the prize.”

He looks at me sideways, squinting. “Is it the first of April today?”

I smile. “Nope.”

He picks up the phone and speaks to someone at the journal. He actually had to do that, assert that it was true, that I wasn’t just spinning it. Once he’s checked the facts he doesn’t speak for a long time, just stares at me.

I was really expecting more, and I feel a stab of disappointment. “You’re happy?” I ask. “It’ll be good for the university.”

“This is incredible.”

“I know,” I say, relieved. I grin.

“But you never said…”

“I wanted to make sure. And then I didn’t get the professorship so, you know…” There. I’m a winner now, I get to indulge in these little digs.

He sits back in his chair and plays with a pen, waves it in the air. He narrows his eyes at me. “Something isn’t right.”

I wait, tilt my head, but his expression doesn’t change. It’s dark and suspicious and suddenly I know, and it’s like the entire edifice that is my new, winning life collapses around me. I screwed up. It’s over. I just did a very, very foolish thing, because I’m an idiot. He knows—of course he knows. How could I have been