I used to dream of being the perfect little wife. Now it turned out that being a perfect little wife was harder than running a corporation.
I'd chosen wrong from the very beginning.
When I got home, a pair of women's heels sat by the front door.
The exact pair Ellie had been wearing tonight.
Bruno heard me come in and stepped out of the bedroom. Our eyes met in the hallway.
I didn't say a word. I pushed past him and walked straight into the bedroom.
Ellie was standing there, bare-legged, wearing Bruno's white dress shirt. The hem barely grazed her hips, and the lace edge of her underwear peeked out beneath it.
She was toweling off her hair, clearly fresh out of the shower. My shower. The master bathroom.
"You send your own wife to the police station, then bring your assistant home. Really stepping up your game, Bruno."
"Don't get the wrong idea. Ellie got something on her clothes, and the hotel was close to the house, so I brought her up to shower and change."
"You don't like other people touching your things, so I let her wear mine."
He said it like it was the most reasonable thing in the world. Like I was the one being unreasonable.