He was on his phone.
Matthew was late, and his wife was waiting. Was he trying to punish her, or was the conversation truly important?
After a full four minutes, Matthew finally tucked his phone into the inside pocket of his blazer and strolled into Mon Ami Gabi.
Now as I lie in bed, my fingers unconsciously stroke Romeo’s back. It’s soothing, but not just for him. Something about the steady, repetitive motion quiets the questions ricocheting through my mind.
All marriages contain secrets; of this I’m certain.
Marissa has revealed one. Is Matthew hiding something equally explosive?
I hope my 10:00 A.M. meeting will help me figure some of this out.
I haul myself up, throw on jeans and a sweatshirt, and brew a cup of to-go coffee. Then I grab my dog’s leash and we head out into what has shaped up to be an unexpectedly sunny, mild day.
* * *
An hour later, I’m opening the door to a bedroom—but not my own. It’s in a home on one of the most exclusive streets in Chevy Chase, just a half mile or so from Matthew and Marissa’s place.
I take in the vaulted ceiling, gas fireplace, and blond hardwood floors. The walk-in closet is about the size of my first studio apartment in Georgetown, and the bathroom is every woman’s fantasy, with its deep, claw-foot tub and multi-jet shower.
“The tiles were handcrafted in Italy,” murmurs the broker beside me. It’s stunning. It should be, for $3.2 million, I think. It’ll be tough to find a flaw.
My broker has been mostly quiet during our tour—she seems to want the house to speak for itself—but now she leads me back into the cheerful, newly renovated kitchen, where I know she’ll ask questions designed to gauge my interest. I’ve already established myself as a serious buyer by telling her I’m prequalified and need to find something within the next month.
“So, where did you say you were moving from again?” she begins, leaning forward with her elbows on the kitchen counter. Her pencil skirt hugs her curvy hips, and her blouse is undone enough that I can see the tip of her blue lacy bra.
“Naples,” I answer, because I have a little familiarity with the area from visiting my grandmother.
“Love it there! And it’s just you and your son?”
“Yeah, his father and I divorced a few years ago. It was kind of messy.”
“Say no more.” She gives a knowing laugh, as if we were already girlfriends. She’s good at her job; she’s building rapport.
“Oh, are you divorced, too?” I ask, thinking, Four years ago, but you’re still friendly enough with your ex to wish him a happy Father’s Day on social media.
Natalie runs manicured fingertips through her shiny dark hair. She’s every bit as alluring as Marissa indicated. “Yup. I have one child, too, Veronica. She turned six last month.” With a Frozen-themed birthday party, I silently add.
“Oh, my Teddy is five! I don’t suppose you have any advice about the schools here? That’s next on my list, after getting a house.”
“You have to get him into Rolling Hills. It’s the best private school around. The teachers are amazing. They start Mandarin in the second grade. And they are building a new STEM building. Of course it probably won’t be ready until after our kids graduate.…”
I nod, thinking, Mandarin in the second grade? “And the parents?”
“The usual—some helicopter moms, and a few cliques, but for the most part they’re a good group.”
“Hmm. What about the dads?” I give her a wink.
Natalie grins. “All the best ones are married. But you know what they say—every couple is just one big fight away from splitting up.”
“Do they really say that?”
She shrugs. “I do.”
As I suspected, Natalie is trouble.
I understand why Matthew was attracted to her—she’s confident and sexy. She’s as different from Marissa as a peacock is from a swan.
The question remains, Is Matthew still attracted to her?
When we met in my office during our first session, Marissa described the slowly developing rift in her marriage. I can’t yet rule out the possibility that Matthew also had an affair—or is still having one—but has chosen to conceal it. The Bishops can’t heal their marriage if one of them is still hiding a big secret.
I gently probe a bit more, but Natalie doesn’t give up any details about her current romantic life. Instead, she asks whether I’m ready to put in an offer.
“It won’t stay on the market long,” she tells me.