On Halloween My Husband Bet I'd Never Leave Him So I Stopped Waiting novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: Seafood and Soup

Bianca packs. Russell, Camille and Paolo barge in with a shellfish platter, and Camille spills scalding soup on her at nearly midnight.

I took the wig off in the car and washed the pie out of my hair in our own kitchen sink.

Then I pulled two leather suitcases out of the storage room of our Tribeca townhouse.

I packed my passport, a week of clothes, my grandmother's watch and my father's brass seal.

I left the wedding album on the shelf and the framed vows on the wall.

It was after one in the morning when the front door opened.

Russell came in alone, still in his pirate coat.

He stopped when he saw the suitcases.

For the first time all night, the confidence went out of his face.

"Where are you going?"

"Milan."

"Bianca."

His voice had changed, and it was not annoyance this time.

It was fear.

He crossed the room and lifted a hand toward my cheek.

"Don't do this. Please."

For a moment he looked like the man who used to pull me against him after every argument because he could not stand sleeping with space between us.

He leaned in to kiss me.

I turned my face away.

He went completely still.

I had never done that to him before.

"You're serious," he said.

"Yes."

Panic crossed his face, and then pride came down over it.

"Fine. Be angry. But you're not ending three years over a party."

"I'm not ending it over the party. The party only showed me the other three years."

He gave a short, disbelieving laugh.

"You were in my bed this morning. You said you loved me. Now you want me to believe it was all nothing?"

"It was something. That is why tonight hurt."

He opened his mouth to answer, and the front door opened again.

Camille came in carrying a large platter in both hands, with Paolo behind her holding champagne.

"There you are." Camille's smile was too bright. "We thought everyone needed to calm down."

Paolo looked at Russell's face, then at my suitcases, and swore under his breath.

Camille set the platter on the kitchen island.

"We came to fix the night. Eat something, have a drink, and by tomorrow nobody will remember."

The platter was lobster tails and a tray of oysters on ice.

I have a severe shellfish allergy, and I have carried an epinephrine pen for four years.

Next to the platter sat a pack of gluten-free crackers, because Camille had told Russell once that wheat made her bloated.

He had remembered that for her.

He had forgotten what shellfish would do to me.

"Help yourselves," Camille said.

I reached for my suitcase.

Paolo snorted. "Here we go again. You've threatened to run back to Italy every fight for ten years, and you were always home by the next day."

"This time is different."

Russell's eyes stayed on me.

"She says she's cancelling us," he told them.

Paolo stopped smiling.

Camille blinked. "Over a pie?"

"It isn't about the pie."

"Then it's the bet," Russell said, and dragged a hand over his jaw. "I know it started badly, but the three years were real. You can't rewrite them because you were embarrassed."

"The three years were real. That is exactly why you can't call tonight a joke."

He had nothing ready to answer with.

Paolo poured champagne and leaned on the island.

"You're tired and you're taking everything personally."

"And you're punishing Russell for one bad call," Camille added softly. "Just apologize for what you said to me at the party and we can all move on."

I looked from one face to the next.

"You brought shellfish into my house. I am the one who owes an apology?"

Russell's gaze dropped to the lobster.

Shame crossed his face for half a second.

"Nobody asked you to eat it," Paolo said. "Stop turning every mistake into proof that we don't care."

It was the same trick in a different coat.

If I named the pattern, I was twisting things.

If I stayed quiet, they called it proof that nothing was wrong.

Camille's eyes filled.

"This is my fault. I should never have brought up the bet. I'm sorry, if it matters that much."

She picked up the insulated container she had carried in with the food.

"I brought soup too. At least take something warm."

"I'm not hungry."

I bent to zip the suitcase.

Camille stepped close, the lid came off the container, and scalding broth poured down the side of my blouse.

I screamed and stumbled back against the counter.

The heat bit through the cloth into my waist.

Russell grabbed a towel while Paolo pulled Camille away from the spill.

"It was an accident," Paolo said. "Don't start another fight over it."

Camille covered her mouth. "Bianca, I'm so sorry. I only wanted to take care of you."

I pressed the towel to my skin and looked up at her.

She was not looking at my burn.

She was looking at her watch.

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