On Halloween My Husband Bet I'd Never Leave Him So I Stopped Waiting novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: The Pie
At the Halloween party, Russell smashes a pie in Bianca's face to win a three-year-old bet, and she texts her mother that she is coming home. His reply: same bet, home by breakfast.
Three hundred people chanted my husband's name, and he put a pumpkin pie in my face.
I was dressed as Cleopatra, in a gold collar and a black wig with my name on a ribbon.
The Kingsley Harbor Halloween party was the biggest night of the company's year.
Every bank, every client and every board member was in that room, and every one of them had a phone up.
Ten minutes earlier, my best friend Camille had taken the microphone.
She had begged me all week not to leave before ten, because she had a surprise.
At ten exactly she asked the host to keep her phone filming the stage from its stand, and then she smiled at me.
"Three years ago, at their wedding, Russell and two of his friends made a bet," she told the room.
"We bet that our princess would never leave Russell, no matter what he did."
People laughed.
"So tonight, let's see if she still comes when he whistles."
The chanting started.
Russell stood in front of me holding the plate.
For one second I thought he would set it down and take my side, the way he promised on our wedding day.
Then Camille's husband, Paolo, called out, "Is Kingsley whipped before the dessert is even cut?"
Russell's jaw tightened, and he pressed the pie into my face himself.
The whole hall howled.
Pumpkin filling ran into my eyes and down the gold collar.
Paolo leaned close to my ear while I was still blind.
"You didn't know? Russell only asked you out in the first place because of the bet."
I wiped my eyes with my sleeve and looked at my husband.
He looked at the floor.
Camille put her arm through mine, soft and warm, the way she had for eleven years.
"Nobody betrayed you, Bianca. You're making a big deal out of a joke again."
I almost laughed at how smooth it was.
I knew all of her jokes.
Four years ago she had filmed my face in Paolo's bedroom doorway and called it a surprise.
Every joke ended the same way: Camille made the scene, and I was the one told to calm down.
In college she had sent me to a black-tie dinner in a beaded flapper dress, filmed my face at the door, and cried when I asked her to delete it.
By the end of that night, everyone was begging me not to upset her.
I had stopped keeping count after that, but my body had not.
My hands were shaking, and I pressed them flat against the gold collar to hide it.
"Do you really think saying 'I didn't mean it' undoes what you did?" I asked her.
Her smile faltered, and her eyes filled.
"I've always treated you like family. How can you think I'm that cruel?"
Paolo stepped between us. "She's apologizing, and you're putting her on trial in front of everyone."
Russell finally lifted his head.
"Bianca, don't turn our party into a circus."
Ten minutes ago he had made me the entertainment, and now the circus was my fault.
Around us, the bankers and clients who had toasted my husband all evening stared into their drinks.
A few looked ashamed.
None of them put their phones away.
The worst part was that Russell had not been faking everything.
He knew I could not sleep with the closet door open.
He had flown to Milan within six hours when my father died, and he still kept my grandmother's St. Christopher medal in his wallet.
But when Paolo laughed at him, Russell chose the room over his wife.
He steered me by the elbow toward the exit, then let go when I looked at his hand.
"Go cool off," he said quietly. "Our anniversary dinner is still Saturday. The party's over, but I'm still married to you. What more proof do you need?"
Russell thought a marriage certificate was a blank check.
He did not know that the credit line holding Kingsley Harbor together was guaranteed by my family.
He thought the money came from a bank in Milan.
I unpinned the gold brooch with his initials from my collar and laid it on a waiter's tray.
Camille watched my hands, and for the first time all night she did not smile.
Outside, the river wind pulled at my wig.
I texted my mother in Milan.
*Mamma, tell the family I'm ready to come home.*
Her answer came almost at once.
*If you leave him, Ferraro Mare pulls every guarantee under Kingsley Harbor at midnight. Are you sure?*
I looked back through the glass at three hundred phones still pointed at the stage.
So I stepped out.
*I'm sure,* I wrote.
My phone buzzed again before the car came, and it was Russell.
*You'll be home by breakfast. Same bet as always.*
I typed back: *Bet.*
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