Chapter 2His Thirty Minute Wife

He hadn't anticipated the pushback. For a second, the neat gears in his head jammed.

Audrey jumped into the silence. “Because you're his wife, Tessa! You get reserved calendar priority. I don't get that.”

“Right,” I scoffed, feeling the sting behind my eyelids. “You just get him running across town with an umbrella when it sprinkles. You get him standing in line for three hours at that no-reservation trattoria because you were craving truffle pasta. Sounds to me like you're the one with priority.”

My voice caught on the last word. I had told myself I didn’t care, yet the ledger of slights had been recording every transaction in ink.

Two months ago, I had spent weeks begging Marcus to go to that Italian place in Soho. He told me thirty minutes for lunch wasn't enough time to sit down, and dinner was completely booked with client entertainment.

“I’ll go wait in line myself,” I had pleaded. “You can just show up and eat. I’ll give up my evening blocks for the next three days. I won't bother you at all.”

He had shut his laptop with a sharp snap. “No. The schedule is set. Stop acting like a child.”

Defeated, I had invited Audrey instead.

And when we arrived at the restaurant, Marcus was already standing on the sidewalk under the heat lamps. He had waited an hour for a table. He sat with us for two more.

Audrey had beamed, nudging me under the table. “See? I told you I’d get him here for you! A husband should move heaven and earth when his wife has a craving.”

And then Marcus had taken the last forkful of osso buco—the tender marrow I had been eyeing all night—and dropped it onto Audrey’s plate. “Eat,” he had muttered with fond exasperation. “Maybe it’ll keep you quiet for five minutes.”

My throat had burned that night. It burned just as hot now.

“Tessa, are you seriously going to throw a tantrum on a public sidewalk over ancient history?” Marcus’s voice cut through the memory, brittle and cold.

I took a breath. “So in your world, a dog going into labor justifies ditching a conference call, but your wife’s abnormal prenatal screening doesn’t even warrant a thirty-second phone call?”