It’s Always the Husband: the Sunday Times bestselling thriller for fans of THE MARRIAGE PACT
into the kitchen, laughing, with Viv clinging to his leg. His dark hair was mussed, his dress shirt rumpled, his finely modeled chin shadowed with stubble. He looked like a man who’d just rolled out of the sack after a wild night. How dare he touch her daughter in that state? Aubrey couldn’t stand the sight of him. Her fingers twitched with the desire to slap him. She clenched her hands behind her back.
“Hey, babe. I got bagels,” he said, tossing the paper bag onto the island. Just like nothing was wrong, like he wasn’t the world’s biggest asshole.
“Ooh, yummy,” Viv said.
Ethan walked over to the desk by the window where they kept a basket for keys and such, and started emptying his pockets. She watched him throw his keys in there, then his sunglasses and wallet. He took out his phone, like he’d done a million times before. And she saw him hesitate. Normally, he would throw it in the basket, too, but he seemed not to want to, not today. He looked up and caught her watching. She smiled, but he must’ve seen something in her eyes, because she saw his Adam’s apple bob. Ha, ha, he was scared. She knew exactly what he was thinking: taking the phone with him would look suspicious, leaving it behind would risk Aubrey snooping.
He put it in the basket. Ethan hesitated by the desk for a minute, like he might say something. Then he glanced at Viv and seemed to think better of it. Aubrey’s eyes were on him the whole time, the atmosphere between them thick with suspicion.
“I’m gonna take a shower,” he said, “and maybe catch a nap before the barbecue.”
Aubrey’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Of course, babe. You must be tired after your long night.”
The uneasy look on his face as he exited the kitchen gave her a measure of satisfaction. As Viv bit into a cinnamon raisin bagel, Aubrey walked deliberately over to the basket and picked up Ethan’s phone. Ethan had the latest iPhone, in space gray. Though the phone was only a few weeks old, she doubted he’d changed his passcode from the old model. He was sloppy that way. But she hesitated. Right now she had a strong suspicion that he was cheating again, but no solid proof. Once she knew for sure, she would have to take action, or hate herself.
Aubrey was still trying to decide whether to search the phone when it buzzed in her hand. Its blank face lit up with the first few words of an incoming text. “Hot damn, boy, you did a number” . . . The sender’s name came up as “Kate.” What the—? For an instant Aubrey thought of her Kate, but why would her Kate text Ethan? Why would her Kate’s name be in Ethan’s contacts, so it showed up simply as “Kate” when he got a text?
She typed in his passcode, and viewed the message in its entirety.
Hot damn, boy, you did a number on me. I can still feel your hands on my body. I want more more more. Again, please. Just say when.
Rage blurred her vision. She wanted to smash this goddamn phone. But then an even more sickening feeling took over. Could the text actually be from Kate Eastman? Was that possible? No. No, it couldn’t. Ethan’s latest tramp had the same name, that’s all. And yet . . . Aubrey had been fighting her suspicions for weeks now, blocking them out like she always did, looking the other way, except even more deliberately than usual because she didn’t want to believe the worst of her friend. (Ethan, at this point, she could believe the worst of.) But now the doubts came rushing in. Glances exchanged between the two of them, stories that didn’t add up, times they both went missing simultaneously. Things Aubrey had done her best to explain away. Even now, she was making excuses for them, telling herself this had to be a different Kate, hesitating to look at Ethan’s contacts list when the truth was discoverable in an instant. She had to stop being such a freaking baby.
Aubrey stared at the phone in her hand, then looked over at Viv, who was absorbed in her bagel. She had to force herself to look at the truth – here, now, even with her daughter in the room. No more excuses.
Aubrey sank into the chair by the desk, and went to Ethan’s contacts list. Kate’s cell number (which Aubrey knew by heart) was right there, under “Kate.” Couldn’t he at least use a fake name, the piece of shit? Now Aubrey couldn’t deny that the text was from her Kate, the Kate, Kate Eastman. Ever since freshman year at Carlisle, Aubrey had thought of Kate as her best friend. Even though Kate left school after freshman year. Even though Aubrey had done all the work of maintaining their friendship. When they visited or talked on the phone, when they messaged or texted or Skyped – which wasn’t even that often – it was always Aubrey who initiated. Yet in her mind, Kate had always been a loyal friend who would never dream of hurting her. What did it say about Aubrey if not only her husband but her best friend would betray her like this? Was she not worthy of love? Did she have terrible judgment in friends? Or was she just a goddamn idiot, and people took advantage because that’s how shitty people were?
It was like discovering Ethan’s cheating for the first time, all over again. She felt so stupid. How long had she been denying the obvious? With shaking fingers, Aubrey went back through Ethan’s texts. There were only three damning ones, part of an exchange with Kate from last night in which they set up their meeting at a local motel. (He’d obviously gotten smarter about hiding the evidence and deleted earlier texts; it was clear from their intimate tone that this wasn’t the first time.) They agreed on the time and the place, and then Kate texted that she was at the motel waiting with nothing but her thigh-high boots on. Aubrey went cold and still. The evidence was undeniable. Ethan was cheating again. And he was cheating with Kate.
Aubrey carefully replaced Ethan’s phone in the basket, wiped bagel crumbs from the island, and put the kettle on for tea. With each movement, visions floated before her eyes. Things she could do to them, to give them a taste of the pain they were causing her. She imagined Ethan coming home to find her in the bathroom with her wrists slit, or hanging from the wooden beam in the garage. Hah, he’d have to clean up the mess, explain to the kids. But that would leave Kate in the clear. Aubrey could go to Kate’s house instead and shoot herself on the front porch, leaving a bloody mess spattered across the door sill. But why kill herself? Why should she be the one to suffer? She imagined Kate and Ethan in bed together, naked, in a passionate embrace. She would barge into the room, take the gun from her purse, pull the trigger – once, twice, a thousand times. She saw the scene in her mind’s eye. Their corpses riddled with bullets, covered with blood, their blank eyes staring at the ceiling. They deserved it, oh, how they deserved it.
But Aubrey would never do it. There were the children to think of.
The wide green lawn of Jenny’s house in Belle Hills teemed with the town’s elite. Jenny made the rounds, greeting people by name, shaking hands, hugging and smiling till her cheeks hurt. The entire business community was here, a healthy number of local judges and politicians, and the upper tier of Carlisle’s administration. Jenny was careful to give each VIP personal attention. She’d been lucky with the weather. Eighty degrees, bright sunshine, a light breeze. The band played oldies. Kids squealed as they jumped into the pool, and the good-looking young lifeguard she’d hired blew his whistle cheerfully. Lines of guests had formed at the open bar and at the grill, where the best caterer in town kept things humming along. Jenny had ordered up burgers (beef and veggie), hot dogs, potato salad, three-bean salad, watermelon, and ice cream. The beer was locally brewed. The party looked like a roaring success, and yet her palms were sweaty and she had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.
So many sharks swam beneath the pretty surface. Jenny hadn’t seen Kate yet, but she’d RSVP’d yes. Their relationship had not been easy in the two months since Kate returned to town. Aubrey’s husband and kids had shown up without her, saying Aubrey wasn’t feeling a hundred per cent but might be along later. Aubrey was never sick, so what was up with that? Jenny had a bad feeling. And up on the deck, a reporter from the Belle River Register had Jenny’s husband Tim cornered – literally, had him backed up against the railing. The Register wanted dirt on Jenny and Tim and their real estate deals. Tim knew that, and she’d warned him a thousand times to keep his distance, yet he let himself get cornered anyway.
Jenny