I hung up and sat there for a long moment, the key warm in one hand, the note cold in the other, my wedding ring catching the ugly fluorescent light.
Then I got up and walked back to face my husband.
“I need to know.”
***
I slipped back into the suite, easing the door shut with both hands as if it were made of glass. Ian was already sitting up, his hair a disaster, blinking at me with that lopsided smile that had made me say yes to the second date.
“There you are,” my husband said, stretching. “I woke up, and the bed was cold. Where’d you go?”
“Ice machine,” I lied, which was maybe the first lie I’d ever told him.
Ian was already sitting up.
He raised an eyebrow. “You went to the ice machine in a robe with no ice bucket?”
“I forgot the bucket.”
“Uh-huh.”
I laughed, and it came out too high. My hand was in my pocket, closed tightly around the key and the note.
Room service I’d ordered knocked. I was grateful for the interruption in the way you’re grateful for a fire alarm during a bad first date.
“I forgot the bucket.”
***
We sat across from each other with coffee, and I tried to breathe like a person who wasn’t quietly unraveling. Ian buttered a croissant as if nothing was wrong.
“So,” I said, casual as a shrug, “did you empty the tux pockets? It has to go to the cleaner before we leave.”
“Yeah, last night. All good.”
“You sure?”
He looked up. “Sharon. I checked. Vow book, hotel key, done.”
“Did you empty the tux pockets?”
My chest tightened painfully. “Weird, because I found something in there this morning.”
My husband stopped chewing.
