Page 39 of The Husband I Left

“No, no, no,” I say, struggling to organize my thoughts into a cohesive sentence. “No, I wasn’t going to take you anywhere—”

Victoria’s face contorts with rage. “Yes, you were! We were going to celebrate you finally leaving that mistake you married.”

I am definitely far too drunk for this conversation. “I don’t want to celebrate Genny leaving me.” I reply sullenly.

Leo stands up beside me, a strange glint in his eye. “Weren’t you going to Greece, Oliver?” he asks, his voice dripping with fake innocence. “You were planning to leave today. You told me about it last month.”

“Yes, but — “ I stop. I turn to him confused, “I was taking Genny to Greece, not Victoria. It was going to be our second…honeymoon…”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize what I’ve said and who I’ve said it to. I turn slowly to face Victoria, who looks like she might actually explode; her face has turned an alarming shade of crimson.

“You bastard,” she hisses.

Before I can react, she grabs a cocktail from a passing server’s tray and throws it directly in my face.

I stand there, dripping and stunned, as Victoria turns on her heel and storms out of the bar. Every eye in the place is on us now, the wealthy patrons pretending not to stare while they soak up every detail of the scene for tomorrow’s gossip.

Leo, the traitor, is laughing so hard he has to hold on to the bar to keep from doubling over.

“There goes my revenge,” I mutter, wiping alcohol from my eyes. “I wasn’t even there to see it.”

“You’re such an idiot,” Leo says, still laughing. “This is the most entertaining night I’ve had in years.”

I sink back onto my stool, suddenly feeling much drunker than I did a few minutes ago. “I don’t understand why everything went so wrong.”

“It’s a mystery, Oliver,” Leo says, signaling the bartender for a towel. “But it might have something to do with the fact that it’s generally a bad idea to let your wife think you’re having an affair with your assistant.”

He hands me the towel, and I dab at my face and suit, though it’s a lost cause at this point. “Do you think Genny will ever forgive—”

“Can’t say for sure,” Leo says cheerfully. “She’s been out for blood this last month, and I can’t blame her for that.”

I don‘t have anything to say to that. I know he’s right. I also know I’m too drunk to think straight.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Leo says, helping me off the stool. “I’m going to get you home, where Mrs. Stewart is going to put you to bed with a glass of water and an aspirin. And tomorrow, when you’re slightly less of a disaster, we’re going to figure out how to find your wife.”

“She doesn‘t want to be found,” I mutter, leaning on him more heavily than I’d like to admit.

“Probably not,” Leo agrees. “But you’re going to try anyway, because despite being an absolute moron, I think you actually do love her.”

I don’t argue with that. I can‘t. I do love Genny.

“Why are you helping me?” I ask as Leo guides me toward the exit, my feet not quite cooperating with the directions from my brain. “You think I’m an idiot. Genny said I was an idiot too.”

“You are an idiot,” Leo confirms cheerfully. “But you’re my oldest friend, and I happen to think Genny was the best thing that ever happened to you. So I’m going to help you get her back, if only to save you from yourself and women like Victoria Warren.”

My head is spinning and my legs don’t seem to want to work, so I just nod and let him lead me out into the night.

Chapter 13

Oliver

Light stabs through my eyelids like daggers, and the shrill sound of my phone ringing feels like it’s drilling directly into my brain. I groan and reach blindly for the nightstand, knocking over what I think is a glass of water before my fingers close around the vibrating phone. My head pounds with each heartbeat, a grim reminder of just how much I drank last night. I squint at the screen, hope flaring briefly as I wonder if it might be Genny, but the number is unfamiliar. Still, desperate as I am, I answer anyway.

“Hello?” My voice sounds like I’ve been gargling with gravel.

“Hi there! I’m calling about the apartment for rent? The two-bedroom with the view of the harbor? Is it still available?” The woman on the other end sounds impossibly chipper.

I pull the phone away from my ear, staring at it in confusion before pressing it back. “I think you have the wrong number.”