Page 72 of Tragic (Lark Cove 3)

“If this is about getting pregnant, then—”

“It’s about all of it,” I interrupted. “Yes, the kiss. Yes, the wanting kids. And the fact that we rarely saw one another. I mean, in order to have sex twice a week, we had to schedule it for Sunday and Thursday mornings.”

“Because we were trying to have a baby.”

“No,” I countered. “Because that was the only time when you didn’t have morning rehearsal and I didn’t have an early meeting.”

“Don’t you dare blame this on my work.” He shoved a finger in my face. “You worked just as much as I did.”

“You’re right,” I said gently, and he dropped his hand. “Because it makes me happy.”

“Are you saying I don’t make you happy?”

“I’m saying that you kissed your costar a week after we found out I couldn’t get pregnant. Would that make you happy?”

“So it is the kiss.” He tossed out a hand. “Just admit it was the kiss.”

“Yes!” I shouted. “Of course it was the kiss. And a million other reasons, like the fact that I don’t believe you when you said you didn’t sleep with her. The man I married wouldn’t have hurt me like that. I don’t trust you.”

He looked to the gravel beneath his shoes, refusing to meet my eyes. He’d done that every other time I’d confronted him about his affair with a costar.

“Well . . . did you? Did you sleep with her?”

He looked up and scowled, tossing a thumb over his shoulder in Kaine’s direction. “Did you sleep with him?”

“Yes, I did.”

Shock flashed across his face, but he schooled his features quickly. Then The Actor appeared, the one who was calm and collected in front of a packed theater. The man who could stand on a bright stage and charm an audience sitting in the dark.

I hated The Actor.

He always seemed to show up whenever we were fighting. It was Adam’s self-defense technique, his way of shutting me out. The actor was the one everyone loved, but I’d always found him kind of ugly.

“This was a wasted trip,” he said coolly.

I scoffed. “You think?”

“Good-bye, Pip.” He brushed past me, going straight for his car.

“Adam?” I called.

He stopped and glanced over his shoulder. “What?”

“Did you sleep with her?” I asked again, one last time.

Maybe I asked because I sensed there was more to his story. Maybe I asked so I’d stop feeling so guilty about being the one to drive our marriage into the oblivion. Maybe I asked because if he denied it again, I was going to accept it as the truth.

“Stop asking me that,” he snapped.

“Then tell me the truth.”

With his chin held high, he turned and leveled his gaze on me. “Yes. I fucked her in the backseat of her car after we left the restaurant.”

His truth knocked the air from my lungs. When I recovered my breath, I swallowed the burn in my throat, refusing to let Adam see one more of my tears. “Why wouldn’t you just tell me when I asked? Why deny it?”

“Because I love you.”

“Hmm. Funny kind of love.” My eyes drifted to the ground. “Good-bye, Adam.”