My Husband Wants An Open Marriage

uli

fool of himself. His shirt is unbuttoned halfway, his tie lon

ays love you....." he s

ce is t

along. She's younger than me, at least by half a decade, all wide eyes and perfect curves, dressed in a tight, low-cut dress that makes it impossible to ignore her

seen him

ars ago. Back then, his eyes sparkled when he looked at me. Now, th

ng Ryan and Emily's performance hilarious. But I know what they're really laughing at. They're laughing at me. The CEO's wife, sitting her

going to kiss?" some

re than kissing after this," someone

weed too. They must be interns. Only people with zero knowledge of the com

hey just d

cheeks, locks eyes with me. "Hi!" she say

yes narrow. She's de

with youth and arrogance. The boy next to

just stare at them,

would make them regret their e

ice says, drawi

n Jewels, Ryan's company, the leading manufacturer of luxury jewelry in North America. Her position is j

eply, forcing a

I was just telling the marketing te

say. "Wh

you! You're so hard to catch these days. And besides, we never g

e swaying together, sharing the mic, laughing like t

ys, smirking, "how are you

g me. The fu

ng to keep a straight face. "I'm thrilled to see my husband's ha

and his secretary a standing ovation. I

crophone. "Before we get down, w

r. And I just want the grou

her eyes. "Well... umm," she say

ly excuse

ering again. "Oh, my God. Did you hea

ulling the girl to her feet. "Let's go," he mutters under his breath, and

Let th

all that singing. Emily is now pressed against him, her hand running up his arm in a way that makes my

take it

h toward the stage. I can feel the weight of everyone's eyes on me, the whispers dying down

I'm done playing

an the last. Ryan doesn't notice me at first, too lost in his dr

ay. "We're

e slurs, still holding the microphone

my fists clenched

ounding annoyed now, as if I

t. Something i

of the stage. The technical operators sitting in the

charge her

the soundboard, holding a half-eaten

setting the donut aside. "Is there so

l of it," I say.

trols, and within seconds, the speakers cut out with a harsh screech. The lights dim. The music dies. Silence fall

ere, his microphone

the hell?"

or too long. "You've had your fun," I say quietly, but with enough steel

I grab his arm and start l

anning their faces for something, maybe support, validation, but all he finds are wide eyes and mut

ear snatches of conversation as we

assed to protest. For once, he's the one

and is already moving into action. He steps forwa

se-but I don't stop. I don't even look at him. I tighten my grip, forci

limbing in behind Ryan.