Page 32 of Accidentally Marrying the Prisoner

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Conrad’s brows furrow. “Yeah, I did.”

I finish my glass, miserable within seconds when my stomach suddenly spasms, and a cold sweat breaks out on my forehead.

“Are you feeling ok?” Conrad asks, flicking his gaze to my arm when I wrap it around my stomach, then up to my eyes, which still feel swollen from holding back hot tears.

I hate how much I care that my stupid, fake husband was probably making out in the bathroom with his stupid, beautiful ex-fiancée while Brad and I sat here like stupid chumps.

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The Exile of Bahadur Shah II and the Final Collapse of the Mughal Empire

The Revolt of 1857 and the End of the Mughal Empire: The Final Collapse of India’s Great Dynasty

“No. I want to go home,” I whisper, already moving out of my chair. I don’t give a flying fig how rude it is to just get up and walk out in the middle of dinner, since beingrudeseems to be the modus operandi around here, excluding Sondra and little Drew.

“You’re leaving already?” Alisa asks Conrad.

“I’m leaving,” I say. “Conrad can do whatever he wants.”And find his own way home, if he evenwantsto come home.

I hand Sondra the gold-wrapped gift Conrad and I brought. It’s a portrait of ten-year-old Andrew on Carolina Beach that I illustrated and printed, professionally matted, and framed with the scallop-edged driftwood that Conrad hand-carved. I wish I could watch her open it, but if I have to stay here one moment longer with Alisa making googly eyes at Conrad, I’m really going to be sick.

“Happy anniversary,” I tell Sondra over my shoulder, digging my keys out of my purse as I hurry out the front door. But when I get to my Beetle parked in the driveway behind Sondra’s shiny, silver Beamer, I have to sit sideways on my seat, bent over with my head between my knees, sucking in air to quell my nausea. When I finally get it somewhat under control, I look up, hurt all the more to find Conrad huddled with Alisa on the front porch to my left. They’re not even bothering to hide their canoodling from Sondra, who’s wringing her napkin in her hands as she looks back and forth between them and me.

“Want me to drive?” Conrad asks after jogging across the carefully kempt lawn when he can finally pull himself away from the woman he really wants to be with.

Since I still want to hurl, I nod quickly and switch to the passenger seat, waving weakly to Sondra, Alisa now nowhere to be seen.

CHAPTER

TWELVE

CONRAD

For as long as Mirabeth and I were happy in our marriage, we’ve beenunhappy. Longer, still, now that Mirabeth has completely shut down on me following the tense anniversary dinner last week. I hardly get a peep out of her.

I’m not doing so hot at work as I miss drilling the side of my hand again by mere millimeters, distracted once more by thoughts of my wife as I continue building the furniture for my future baby’s nursery. Though who knows if or when we’ll ever be able to make use of it, since Mirabeth no longer lets me touch her—not even a little cuddle at night—and she’s unfortunately on her period, given the open box of tampons she left sitting on the toilet tank.

“Take a break before you lose a hand,” Sam says, shaking his head at my ineptitude. He points toward the warehouse’s open garage-style door. “Get some air and your head on straight.”

A text pops up on my phone as I make my way outside, my chin lifted toward the afternoon sun, enjoying its full force on my face whenever I want, instead of being relegated to only a few hours of yard time. The only thing that comes close to thisfeeling is when Mirabeth is shining down on me, and I miss her so much that my chest aches. If only we could go back to the beginning.

Cupping my hand over the phone to block the sun so I can see what’s on the screen, I huff to find the text is from Alisa. The woman has always been an excessive texter, by my standards, and five years haven’t changed her ways. She won’t leave me alone, and I have half a mind to block her. I would, if it weren’t for the fact that she keeps me up to date on my nephew, since my relationship with Brad is still rocky.

Despite Drew being a tad younger than the Tee Ball program’s minimum age requirement, Brad somehow managed to register him on the same team my brothers and I played on when we were younger. I love watching the videos Alisa sends of Drew bunching up his adorable face with all seriousness, squealing if he so much as taps the ball with his bat, then his sheer joy when he pumps his little legs toward first base. It’s everything I can’t wait to see when I sign my kids up to play ball.