The Liar Next Door by Nicola Marsh

Thirty-Two

Frankie

THEN

When I met Walter I thought I knew what love was. That love embodied comfort and stability, and having someone kind and reliable to come home to every day. Meeting Andre made me realize I was wrong.

Ever since I first saw Andre strolling along the beach outside the cottage in Ziebellville, I felt something shift, making me off-kilter, like the first time Walt took me out in his dinghy. I’d still been living in the cottage at the timeeven after we divorced Walter let me live there until I figured out where I wanted to go—and I’d just come home from work, finishing a marketing plan for the grocery chain in New Haven I freelanced for. I was sitting out back on a deck chair when he’d walked right up to me and said hi. His deep voice sent a shiver of excitement through me and when he’d asked me out, brazen and confident, I accepted.

We’ve been inseparable since that first momentous meeting. He’s a free spirit and the opposite of Walter in every way. Andre is laid-back, carefree and funny. He makes me laugh every day with his acerbic observations on everything from our favorite bagels at the corner store to the newest boutique opening on the Upper East Side.

I thought I’d loved Walter but now I know this is love, this heady, hedonistic, crazy, overwhelming emotion that inspires me.

Maybe Walter has the same realization too. He’s back with Julia, the girlfriend he dumped because of me, and I’m glad. I can’t imagine what it must’ve been like for her to learn I’d divorced him, that I’d broken up their relationship for nothing. I suspected she’d been behind those incidents when Walt popped the question, especially as they stopped after we married and she probably realized our relationship was serious. Regardless, I’m pleased Julia and Walt are back together. He deserves to be happy, and we haven’t seen each other by mutual agreement because while our divorce was amicable it’d be too awkward. I don’t need a reminder of how I broke his heart.

We made a clean break, and when Andre asked me to move in with him shortly after the decadent weekend we spent in bed after we met, the timing was perfect.

Andre’s job as a freelance graphic designer affords him a beautiful apartment in Manhattan, and as I sit here, stroking the wedding band he slipped on my finger months agoa spontaneous, chaotic, wild decision that feels right—I’m madly in love for the first time in my life.

Everything is perfect.

I hear the front door open and I leap to my feet, eager to see him. I’m wearing a dress he loves, lemon dotted with tiny stars, strapless and skimming my knees. I wore it as a welcome home and because he’s been away, I know I won’t be wearing it for much longer.

My steps falter as he dumps his overnight bag near the door and kicks it away. He can barely meet my eyes, and I know by the expression on his face that something is seriously wrong. After being away on a work trip he usually greets me with a giant smile, before sweeping me into his arms and kissing me senseless. We rarely make it to the bedroom.

“Hey, honey,” I say, crossing the room to hug him. “Everything okay?”

He doesn’t answer and when our gazes meet, my heart stops. Guilt, opaque and murky, darkens his eyes to indigo when I can usually see gold flecks in the blue depths.

“I’m sorry, babe, I’m so, so sorry.”

He opens his arms but as I step forward he lowers them, as if he can’t bear to touch me. That’s when I know the worst has happened and I can’t breathe.

“What did you do?”

He stares at the floor, his hair brushing his collar, and I irrationally wonder if whoever he cheated on me with loves his hair long as much as I do.

“It was one night. She meant nothing.” Seven words that hack my heart in two. “And if it makes you feel any better, I’m never going back to Hartford again. I swear it.”

Hartford. Like the cosmos is having one giant laugh at my expense. I’d fled to Hartford from Long Island with Walter, only to escape Hartford and my ex-husband, yet here it is again, front and center in my life, in the worst possible way.

“Who is she?”

“Nobody. A meaningless distraction because I lost a major account and drank too much. I’m mortified…” He trails off and when he raises his face I see tears tracking down his cheeks. “I love you, babe, and I’ll do whatever it takes to get us back on track.”

I can’t speak. I want to say so much. I want to scream and rant, “How could you do this to us after only eight months of marriage? Do I mean that little to you? Were our vows meaningless?”

“Frankie, say something.”

Once he started calling me Frankie, it stuck. I didn’t like it at the start but shedding good girl Francesca along with my first marriage seemed like a smart thing to do at the time.

I can’t help but think of Walter. He never would’ve cheated on me. Hell, he’d made his views on cheating clear from the start when he wouldn’t instigate something with me until he’d dumped his girlfriend. Guess there’s a lot to be said for staidness over impulsivity.

“I need some time away to get my head together,” I say, holding up my hand to stop him when he reaches for me. “If we’re to have any kind of chance of getting past this, I need some time alone. Can you give me that?”

He doesn’t want to. He probably fears I’ll leave and never come back. In this moment, I’m unsure what I’ll do but I know one thing. I need to get away from him. I need breathing space.

“Where will you go?”

“Anywhere but here.”

I head for the bedroom to pack, because I know exactly where I need to go. The only place I’ve ever felt truly safe.