Page 68 of The Awful Truth

“Yes, you did. Charlotte told me everything, you utter buffoon.”

Panic filled his veins, and he said the only thing he could think of. “Well then she’s lying.” Guilt took over as soon as the words were out of his mouth, and he tried to soften them. “Or…maybe she was confused.”

Antonia let out a dramatic sigh. “Oh, come on. Just stop it. Stop. Fucking. Lying. You risked our marriage, our financial future, and both of our reputations, just for what? To feel like a real man for once?” She glared at him, then went on. “Yes, you got to be the all-knowing, wise, sexy older man. Unlike how you are with your awful wife who knows everything you know and treats you like a partner instead of a demi-god.”

He took a quick breath, feeling like he might be on the verge of a heart attack. “Can we just take a minute? Slow things down? Because I can’t…I can’t…” His voice cracked and he fought the tears pricking the backs of his eyes.

“Can’t what? Can’t manipulate me anymore? Can’t pull the wool over my eyes? Can’t control everything in your smooth, larger-than-life, smarmy way?”

He fumbled for the armchair nearby, landing on the ottoman. Burying his face in his hands, he let out a sob. “Christ, I’ve never been sorrier about anything in my entire life. You’ve got to believe me. I screwed up. I did. I can own that. I can.”

When he looked up at her, she was sitting in the same position she’d been in when he first walked into the room. Unmoved and unaffected. He sniffled. “Please, I’ll do anything to make it up to you. Anything. I promise. Just don’t ruin everything we’ve built.” He sniffed again and blinked quickly. “Seriously, babe, we’ve got it all. The show, the books, fame, money… People love us. They trust us.”

She scoffed. “They love you. They trust me. And they’ll continue to trust me after you step aside for health reasons and I get a new co-host.”

His head snapped back. “What? I’m not⁠—”

“Oh, but you are,” Antonia answered, wrinkling up her face in mock-sympathy. “It’s already in motion.”

“But how? I don’t understand. You didn’t say a word. Was all that stuff yesterday by the pool just bullshit?”

Letting out a shrill laugh, she said, “Not on my part. Just yours.”

“So you didn’t know?”

“I found out last night. Forgot my pills. Silly old me. Perimenopause is really doing my head in these days.”

“Oh.”

“Oh, indeed.” Antonia let out a sarcastic chuckle that bordered on insane. “The first thing I did was email Enid, who I’ve got to give some credit to because she knew what you were all about. She tried to warn me, but I just refused to believe it. Not my Ted. Not the man I married. Not my business partner. He would never be so stupid. And yet…”

She stood and walked over to the mini-bar, then took out a bottle of water. Leaning against the counter, she said, “I was just lying here all night last night, my mind spinning away on what to do. How to play this. My first impulse was to charge in there and kill the pair of you.” She paused and made a few tsking sounds. “Then, I decided, ‘No, Antonia, don’t kill them. That’ll just ruin your life, and you haven’t done anything wrong.’ Naturally, my next thought was to fire her ass. Right there on the spot. Bang on the door and scream in your faces, fire her, and have the captain remove her from the yacht at first light. That would’ve felt glorious, don’t you think? Cancel her flight and her company credit card and change all the passwords to everything and take her phone since the network is paying for it and just leave her stranded on a dock somewhere.”

Her voice was buoyant as she spoke. Giddy. Borderline psychotic. Ted’s lungs felt hard and shriveled up, as if they would never take in a full breath again. He knew she was waiting for him to say something, but all he could come up with was a strangled um-hmm.

“But then I realized I can’t fire her, and neither can you, you dumb shit. She could ruin us with that long history of text messages, incriminating emails, and the lovely dick pics and topless photos. Really classy, the pair of you. Is she in her drug-induced coma yet? Bring your A-game. I’ve got a lot of energy to burn.”

Tapping her chin as if carefully considering the situation, she said, “What do you think? Could a judge be convinced that you were drugging me? Hmmm…and just imagine how sympathetic she’d look to a jury in a civil trial. The poor, impressionable, overworked young woman whose horrible boss used his position and power to pressure her into sleeping with him⁠—”

“That’s not what happened.”

“It doesn’t matter though, does it?” Her words were crisp. “Because if she says that’s what happened, people will believe it. You’ll be the Harvey Weinstein of the mental health profession and I’ll be the laughingstock of the entire world, instead of just to my philandering husband and his whore. Both our careers would be up in smoke.” She was talking as though this was just idle gossip—a story she overheard in a coffee shop. “So I did the only thing I could do to possibly salvage my career, because who would trust me again if they knew I’d been hoodwinked by a psychologist?”

She was going in for the kill now. His body vibrated with adrenaline. He felt cold and sweaty. His entire being had morphed into a bottomless pit of regret. Why had he done it? Why?! It obviously came with far too many risks. And why had they decided to carry on while she was right down the hall? Idiots. Both of them. And now they were both screwed.

“I suppose if the story got out, I could go back to psychiatry. I could still get some patients. But only the stupid, trusting sort of people. The ones who wouldn’t understand that a good psychiatrist would have been able to sniff you out a mile away. But I guess I’m not a good psychiatrist, am I?” She stared at him, for the first time, a hint of vulnerability crossing her face. “That might be the part that I find the most distressing. Not only am I a fool as a wife and partner, but apparently I’m also shit at my chosen profession.”

“Toni, no, none of this was your fau⁠—”

“Obviously not. But I, of all women, should have known. And quite frankly, someone who missed all the signs—and there were so many now that I’ve actually started to think about it—shouldn’t be giving out advice to anyone.”

Ted closed his eyes and scrunched up all the muscles in his face. He may not love her anymore, but he didn’t mean to do this to her. “No, that’s not true. You’re one of the best⁠—”

“No, no,” she snapped. “You do not get to manipulate me anymore.”

“I’m not⁠—”

“Oh, but you are. And it’s what you’ve always done, isn’t it? To get your way. And I just put the blinders on and followed you wherever you wanted to go. Like a complete fucking fool. Let’s write a book together. Let’s do a seedy daytime talk show and make millions of dollars that we’ll let slip through our fingers. Sure, darling, anything to feed your fragile ego. Christ, I’m an idiot.” Letting out a frustrated laugh, Antonia continued. “Oh yes, the hit to my sense of self-worth is going to be by far the hardest part of this to get over. I probably won’t, will I?”