Chapter 3

"I'm not getting any idea," I said, puzzled.

"Then don't be mad. It's just that on Vanessa's birthday, you happened to be working, so I..."

Now I was even more confused. "Mad about what?"

That stopped her short. After a long silence, she said, "I'll come home and pick you up tonight. We'll go out to eat."

I was about to say I wasn't going when I heard the dial tone. She'd hung up.

Genevieve came back to get me and drove us straight to Marlowe's, an upscale seafood restaurant.

The moment we stepped inside, the floor manager walked right past me and greeted Genevieve, who was behind me, with deference. "Welcome, Ms. Rothwell. Your husband's already here. He's in the Willow Room."

Genevieve's face changed. Before she could say anything, Ethan came out from inside. His eyes lit up when he saw her, and he trotted over like an eager puppy.

"Genevieve!"

Then, as if he'd only just noticed me: "Oh, Felix, you're here too. You've never been here before, have you? Genevieve's favorite thing here is the lobster salad."

The manager glanced between us and sensibly slipped away.

I gave a faint smile. "What a coincidence."

Genevieve's expression shifted. She came over to take my hand, but I turned away. "Let's go. I'm hungry."

Through the whole meal, Genevieve was distracted. She kept glancing at me, putting food on my plate, telling me about the dishes.

I gave her the occasional half-hearted response until finally I sighed. "Just eat."

Halfway through, the owner came over to chat, and that was when I found out the place belonged to her friend, Trevor Beck.

Trevor apologized to me first, saying the manager was new and had mixed people up.

I knew he was covering for Genevieve. Her friends were tight-knit. They covered for her every single time.

I smiled. "It's no big deal. Thanks for coming over yourself."

Trevor seemed surprised I wasn't crying or making a scene. He made a little small talk and left.

After the meal, I came back from the restroom to find Genevieve holding a drunk Ethan, her face full of tenderness.

Last year, I'd gotten drunk at a work dinner. A coworker called Genevieve from my phone, but she refused to come get me.

The coworker brought me home, but I kept punching in the wrong door code. It was early winter, and I ended up sleeping in the stairwell all night.

It wasn't until the next morning that I found out Genevieve had been home the whole time.

"I just didn't feel like letting you in. Maybe now you'll learn your lesson. Look at you, stinking drunk. Disgusting!"

Remembering that, I went back to the private room, grabbed my bag, and left.

I'd barely walked in the door at home when Genevieve called. "Felix, what's wrong with you? You just left without telling me? Do you know how long I waited for you?"

"Genevieve," I said calmly, "let's get a divorce."

It was the second time I'd brought up divorce. The first had been on our anniversary last year.

Genevieve had gone to the aquarium with Ethan. We'd had a huge fight, and she shoved me so hard I fell down the stairs and broke my leg.

I'd thought I could use divorce as a threat. I never imagined she'd agree right away.

So I ended up on my knees, sobbing my heart out, begging her to forgive me for saying it.

But this time, I really meant it.

Genevieve went still.

After a moment, she let out a cold laugh. "This again? Fine. I'm coming home right now. Let's see what else you've got."

Half an hour later, she finally got home. I handed her the divorce agreement I'd prepared long ago.

But she jerked her hand back and let the papers fall to the floor.

"Huh. You really went all out this time."

She gave me a long look. "This game gets old if you play it too much."

"I'm serious this time."

She just let out a scornful laugh. "Felix, I know you too well. Playing hard to get takes brains. Do you even have any?"