If You Only Knew

“Yes, yes. Leo,” Rose and Charlotte echo. Rose pronounces his name Weo, which is very damn cute.

“Leo,” I call. “Your presence is requested.”

There’s no answer. “Maybe he’s walking Loki,” I say.

We finish the story, and I tuck them into bed. Then we call Rachel, so they can tell her all about their exciting day—the chocolate chips, hide-and-seek, peeing in the sink, Loki. “They’ve been great,” I lie when it’s my turn. “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m good,” she says, but I hear a note of uncertainty in her voice. “I’m homesick, though.”

“What are you doing tonight?”

“Meeting an old friend from Celery Stalk for drinks. Maybe dinner.”

“Nice! Good girl, Rach.”

There’s a pause. “Has Adam called?”

He had. “Yeah. I just let Grace answer the phone. I didn’t talk to him.” Because I didn’t want the girls to hear my death threats.

“I wonder if he’s been with...her this weekend,” my sister says.

I have no answer for that. “Listen. You just enjoy your dinner and the hotel. Send more pictures, okay? Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

“Why Mommy away?” Rose asks.

“She’s having a little fun time away,” I say.

“She has fun with us,” Grace says, scowling.

“Yes. The most fun of all is with you girls. She loves you so much,” I say. “But she also knows that Auntie loves you so much and so she shared you with me. You’re my present!”

This assuages any pouty lips. I smooch the girls, breathe them in, get Charlotte to pee one more time, resettle her in the big bed. “I love you, my sweethearts,” I say.

“We love you,” they inform me.

Leo is not downstairs, though the kitchen is cleaned up. God loves a man who can clean up a kitchen.

Now I can have a glass of wine, and never in my life have I deserved one more.

I pour myself some cabernet and take it into the living room.

My sister sounded shaky. And that question—is Adam taking advantage of her absence by being with his mistress... God.

I’d bet the farm that the answer is yes. I bet he’s told Emmanuelle—such a porno name—that his wife doesn’t understand him, and she’s irrational and demanding, and God knows what else. That things haven’t been good for a long, long time, but he owes it to her to at least try to work things out...but...you know how wives are. Not nearly as understanding as mistresses.

What did Dad tell Dorothy, I wonder? My wife’s obsessed with her job? She’s not as young as she used to be? The sex feels very married.

It may be time to find Dorothy and have a little talk. Or not. Jeesh, I have no idea.

Personally, I always thought married sex was the best sex. Owen and I knew each other’s bodies, our favorite parts. There was the trust factor, the love, the like. It was always good.

I wonder how the sex is between Owen and Ana-Sofia. Life-changing, no doubt. Proof of God to my once-atheist husband.

My door opens, and in come Leo and Loki.

“Hey,” he says. “Girls in bed?”

“Yep. Bet they’d love it if you went up and said good night.”

“Nah. I’ll just rile them up.” He sits on the couch next to me. Loki lies down at his feet without snarling at me. A pleasant change.

Then Leo looks at me, and his eyes are soft and gray and have a hint of a smile in them, and my insides drop and tighten. He reaches out and touches my face.

Scratches my cheek. “You have some dried sauce here,” he says.

“Ah. Thank you.”

Then he slides his hand around to the back of my head and pulls me to him. One of my hands goes to his chest, and I can feel the solid thumping of his heart. “Recreation only,” he murmurs, his voice scraping a part low in my stomach. “Got it?”

“Got it,” I whisper back.

His eyes crinkle with a small smile, and then he’s kissing me, and his mouth is... God, his mouth is good at what it’s doing—a slow, gentle, thorough kiss that makes my insides leap and spark. He kisses the corners of my mouth, then my lips again, his tongue sliding against mine, shifting so that he’s half lying on top of me, his long, rangy body covering me with its delicious weight. My hands slide up his arms, which are taut with muscle, across his shoulders and neck, all the while kissing him back.

“We can’t... The girls are... So no...” I manage to say against his perfect mouth.

“I know,” he whispers, kissing just under my ear. “This is just a make-out session.” He kisses down my neck, making me clench and melt. “When do they go home, by the way?”

Then he pulls back and smiles at me, and it seems to me all I could ever want and all I ever hoped for is in that smile.

The warning chimes go silent under the sounds of us kissing and the happiness singing in my heart.

Rachel

When Sylvia, the Swiss concierge, calls to ask if I’m expecting a Mr. Gus Fletcher, I manage to say yes, send him right up.

If Adam knew I was having a man up to my suite, then going out for drinks and dinner, he’d be very, very uncomfortable.

Which is, I suppose, the point. Adam slept with another woman. I’m just having dinner with an old friend.

Doesn’t make me feel less nervous. I blot my underarms with tissues and chug some water. Check my lipstick. Blot again.