About the Author

STEPHANIE DECAROLIS is a lawyer living in New York with her husband, their two beautiful daughters, and their very spoiled cat. She is a graduate of Binghamton University and St. John’s University School of Law. When she’s not writing, Stephanie can usually be found baking, crafting, or taking photographs. The Guilty Husband is her debut novel.

The Guilty Husband
STEPHANIE DECAROLIS

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

HarperCollinsPublishers

1st Floor, Watermarque Building, Ringsend Road

Dublin 4, Ireland

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2021

Copyright © Stephanie DeCarolis

Stephanie DeCarolis asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © March 2021 ISBN: 9780008462109

Version: 2021-02-16

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1: Vince – Day 1

Chapter 2: Allison – Day 1

Chapter 3: Vince – Day 1

Chapter 4: Vince – Day 1

Chapter 5: Vince – Before

Chapter 6: Allison – Day 1

Chapter 7: Vince – Day 2

Chapter 8: Allison – Day 2

Chapter 9: Vince – Day 2

Chapter 10: Vince – Day 3

Chapter 11: Vince – Before

Chapter 12: Allison – Day 3

Chapter 13: Vince – Day 3

Chapter 14: Vince – Before

Chapter 15: Allison – Day 3

Chapter 16: Vince – Day 4

Chapter 17: Vince – Before

Chapter 18: Allison – Day 4

Chapter 19: Vince – Day 4

Chapter 20: Vince – Before

Chapter 21: Allison – Day 4

Chapter 22: Vince – Day 4

Chapter 23: Vince – Before

Chapter 24: Allison – Day 5

Chapter 25: Vince – Day 5

Chapter 26: Vince – Day 6

Chapter 27: Allison – Day 6

Chapter 28: Vince – Day 6

Chapter 29: Vince – Before

Chapter 30: Allison – Day 7

Chapter 31: Vince – Day 7

Chapter 32: Allison – Day 8

Chapter 33: Allison – Day 8

Chapter 34: Vince – Day 9

Chapter 35: Allison – Day 9

Chapter 36: Allison – Day 10

Chapter 37: Vince – Day 10

Chapter 38: Allison – Day 10

Chapter 39: Vince – Day 10

Chapter 40: Layla – Before

Chapter 41: Layla – Before

Chapter 42: Vince – Day 10

Chapter 43: Layla – Before

Chapter 44: Allison – Day 11

Chapter 45: Allison – Day 12

Chapter 46: Layla – Before

Chapter 47: Layla – Before

Chapter 48: Vince – Day 13

Chapter 49: Nicole – Day 13

Chapter 50: Nicole – Day 13

Chapter 51: Vince – Day 14

Chapter 52: Allison – Day 14

Chapter 53: Vince – Ten Months Later

Acknowledgements

Dear Reader …

Keep Reading …

About the Publisher

For my husband, who believes I can do anything, and for my daughters whom I hope to inspire to believe the same of themselves.

Chapter 1
Vince
DAY 1

It started, as so many things do, with a choice. Though it wasn’t one consciously planned – a decision made, a line drawn in the sand. No, this felt more like something that happened while I wasn’t looking. The gentle pull of the tide that sweeps you out to sea while you’re preoccupied with the feeling of sunshine on your face. It all happened so slowly, and yet all at once. It started so small, a glance exchanged, a word whispered, but somehow, it’s grown into something so large that it now looms over my life, casting a shadow on everything I once thought I’d die to protect.

I don’t even know who I am anymore. I’ve become someone I barely recognize, making decisions I never thought I would make. What started with one mistake, one bad choice, has become many. One following the next until I could no longer keep up, I couldn’t set it right. But in truth, I didn’t really try. Not until it was too late anyway. I didn’t know, in those glittering early days, what malevolent thing would curl around me like smoke, so thick and so dark, that soon I wouldn’t be able to see my way through it any longer.

I need to snap out of it. I need to focus. I stare at the spreadsheet on my computer screen, the cursor blinking at me impatiently. I know I should be working. I’ll need these quarterly numbers before the board meeting this afternoon, but I’m distracted today.

I glance down at my cell phone that’s resting, face down, next to my keyboard. I try to resist the urge to flip it over, again. To check for new messages. But the pull is too strong. Disgusted with my own disappointing lack of will power, I check my home screen. No new notifications. This is what I wanted, right? Don’t contact me again. Then why does this silence feel like the quieting of birds before an impending storm?

‘Vince?’

The voice rattles me and I drop my phone like a child caught sneaking sweets before dinner.

‘Sorry,’ my assistant Eric says, ‘didn’t mean to startle you.’

‘No, no, I was just lost in thought for a moment. What’s up?’

‘There’s someone here to see you,’ he replies.

‘Really? I don’t see a meeting on my schedule. I’m supposed to sit down with the board in about an hour and I thought I had cleared my morning to finish up the quarterly reports.’ We’re about to launch a new branch of the company, expanding from software development into producing video games. It’s a huge step for KitzTech and I have a lot riding on it.

‘It’s not a meeting … It’s a detective,’ Eric says.

‘A detective? Do you know what it’s about?’

‘She said it’s about one of our interns. Layla Bosch. She’s … she was killed last night.’

I feel the blood rush from my face, the periphery of my vision start to blur. My stomach drops and I have the strange sensation that I’m suddenly in free fall.

‘Do you … want me to send her in?’ Eric asks.

‘Of course, yes, send her in right away.’ I straighten up in my seat, willing myself to regain my composure.

Eric leaves my office, closing the door softly behind him.

I rake my hands through my thick, wavy hair. I’ve started to notice that it’s thinning lately, but Nicole says she can’t see any difference. Nicole. What am I going to tell her? Do I have to tell her anything? I guess I’m about to find out.

I hear a quick rap on the door; a courtesy before Eric swings it open. We have an open door policy around here, and even though I’m the CEO, I constantly have consultants, associates, and my production teams coming in and out of my office throughout the day. I try to keep a relaxed and open feeling in our company; I think it’s essential to keep the employees happy and the creativity flowing. But today Eric escorts the detective into my office and shuts the door behind him.

‘Mr Taylor, I’m Detective Allison Barnes,’ the detective says extending her hand to me. I’m taken aback for a moment when I first see Detective Barnes. I suppose I’ve always imagined detectives the way I’ve seen them portrayed on television – middle aged, paunchy, rough around the edges. Detective Barnes is nothing of the sort with her thin frame, glossy brown hair pulled back into a smooth bun, and her rich olive skin. In another version of my life, I might have found her attractive, but today all I can focus on are her sharp hazel eyes, which are already looking me up and down, seeking out my cracks and flaws.

I walk around my desk to shake her hand, and offer her a warm smile. ‘Come on in, take a seat.’

I gesture for her to sit in one of the low-slung leather chairs situated across from my desk. I walk back to my own chair and sit behind my large glass desk, assuming a position of power, confidence. It’s all part of the show.

‘Thank you,’ Detective Barnes says, sitting primly on the edge of her seat as she takes in my spacious, modern office. My office is of a minimalist design, and, like the rest of our corporate headquarters, it’s painted a bright white. I notice the detective’s gaze lingering curiously on the only splashes of color in here, the assortment of beanbag chairs and yoga balls that also serve as seating options in my office. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt your morning, but unfortunately it seems that one of your interns, Layla Bosch, was killed last night.’

‘Yes, my assistant, Eric, just told me,’ I reply. ‘That’s truly awful. May I ask what happened to her?’

Barnes nods curtly. ‘We found her body in Central Park this morning. I’m afraid that’s all I’m able to tell you at this time.’

I feel my pulse quicken, my heart beating rapidly like a bird futilely thrashing its wings against a metal cage.

‘My partner, Detective Lanner, and I are here to interview anyone who may have known Ms Bosch. We’re trying to sort out if there was anything going on in her life, if there was anyone who may have wanted to harm her. Detective Lanner is meeting with your assistant at the moment.’

‘Of course,’ I say. ‘Unfortunately, I personally didn’t work too closely with Ms Bosch, so I’m afraid I won’t be of much assistance to you, but I can have Eric pull up the names of her direct supervisors for you.’

‘I figured as much. I didn’t expect that the CEO of a big company like this would have much day-to-day contact with the interns, but I would certainly appreciate that list of her supervisors.’

I nod, and jot down a note to have Eric pull the names of everyone that Layla Bosch was assigned to work with.

‘So,’ Barnes continues, ‘did you know Ms Bosch?’

‘We like to call ourselves a family here at KitzTech, and that includes the interns. I make it a point to try to get to know everyone that works for me, but from what I recall Ms Bosch hasn’t been with us for very long. She would have come in with the new class of interns only about five months ago, so I didn’t have the chance to get to know her as well as I may have liked.’

‘What can you tell me about her?’

‘Well, like I said, I didn’t have much opportunity to work with her personally, but I’ve heard great things through her supervisors. I hear she was a very ambitious and intelligent young lady that likely would have been offered a full-time position after the completion of her internship. But I’m afraid that’s all the information I can offer you, Detective. I wish I could be of more assistance.’

‘Thank you, Mr Taylor,’ Barnes says.

‘Just call me Vince. Everyone around here does.’

‘We would like access to Ms Bosch’s personnel file if you’d be so willing.’

‘Of course. Anything you need. I’ll have Eric pull that for you as well. And if there is anything else we at KitzTech can do to assist in your investigation, please don’t hesitate to ask.’ I slowly rise from my chair. ‘I don’t mean to rush you out, but I’m scheduled to meet with my board in just a moment unless there is anything else you need?’

‘No, thank you, Mr Taylor. Vince. That’ll be fine for now. I appreciate your time this morning, and I’m sure we’ll be in touch.’ Detective Barnes pulls herself up from the chair and dusts off her perfectly-pressed pants.

I smile and extend my hand across the desk, hoping that she hasn’t noticed the sweat beading along my collar. It’s only a matter of time before she finds out that I’m lying.

Chapter 2
Allison
DAY 1

He’s lying. Or, at the very least, there is something that Vince Taylor is not telling me, something hiding beneath his flawless smile. Vince was not at all what I was expecting when I asked to speak to the CEO of KitzTech. For one thing, I didn’t expect him to be so startlingly attractive. My hand automatically goes to check my hair just thinking about him, and I can sense the color rising into my cheeks as I recall the tiny gasp I was unable to suppress when I first saw him walking towards me in his expensive jeans and crisply-pressed shirt. He smelled of citrus and sandalwood, of exotic currents from faraway places.

Vince is casually handsome, as if he’s become accustomed to how good-looking he is, but yet I suspect he’s still very much aware of the charming effect his tall stature, broad shoulders, and honey-brown eyes have on everyone else around him. He’s younger than I imagined he would be too. I’d guess he’s around forty, with gentle laugh lines around his eyes and an easy, languid confidence that comes from living on top of his world.

Vince sat behind his fancy desk, in his absurdly large office, looking appropriately concerned about the death of his young intern, but something about him struck me as odd. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I have a gut feeling that there is more to him than the relaxed jeans, finger-combed hair, and movie star smile. I make a note to myself to look into Vince Taylor.

I walk down the large, glass spiral staircase at the center of the KitzTech corporate headquarters and into the brightly lit white lobby to meet my partner, Jake Lanner.

‘Can you believe this place?’ Lanner asks, gesturing at the grand, minimalist lobby. It’s all polished glass and pristine surfaces. ‘Did you notice they don’t even have light switches?’

I quickly scan the walls. He’s right. Not a single light switch, outlet, or wire in sight. I try to think back to the inside of Vince Taylor’s office. Much like the lobby, his office was white and sparsely furnished, with the exception of a few brightly colored beanbags and yoga balls that seemed a bit ridiculous for a CEO’s office. It was obvious that he tries to be the ‘fun’ boss that lets his employees call him by his first name and ‘hang out’ in his office that is easily larger than my apartment. But Lanner is right. I didn’t see the familiar tangle of wires coming from the back of his desktop computer.

‘I’m telling you, Barnes. The entire place is wireless. Everything is controlled by these little panels that blend into the walls. Watch,’ Lanner says as he walks towards a glass doorway reading ‘Café’ He places his hand on the outside of the door frame and a control panel illuminates asking for an employee ID.

‘Can I help you?’ a chipper young woman asks. Thick, trendy black glasses are perched on the bridge of her nose and she’s wearing a form fitting, yet professional, black dress.

I turn and introduce myself and Lanner.

‘Yes, you’re the detectives here about Layla, right? Such a shame. I’m Rachael. I work at the front desk. Sorry to have missed you earlier but I was giving a tour of the facilities to some new applicants. Is there anything I can help you with?’

‘No,’ Lanner responds. ‘We were just admiring all the tech around here.’ He’s in his element. Lanner loves anything techie.

‘It’s very cool, isn’t it?’ Rachael says, nodding. ‘There’s a panel like this outside just about every door. You just have to touch the panel to light it up. To get in and out of any of the community spaces around here you need to scan your employee ID, and to get into any of the restricted spaces you need to scan your fingerprints. We get a lot of people who stop in just to see the facility and we found that this was the best way to keep them out of the areas we don’t want them wandering into. Would you like something from the Café? I can scan you in.’

‘No, thank you,’ I respond. ‘We were just leaving.’

‘Okay, good luck with the investigation. I hope you find whoever did this,’ Rachael says solemnly as she scans her ID, prompting the glass doors of the Café to slide open before her.

Lanner and I begin walking toward the exit. ‘So what’s the deal with this place?’ I ask him.

‘What do you mean?’

‘KitzTech. I know it’s a technology development company, but this office doesn’t exactly give me the “nerdy computer programmer” vibes I was expecting.’

‘Nerdy? Come on, they created Friend Connect!’ Lanner exclaims, evidently surprised at my lack of familiarity.

‘That stupid social media site?’

‘I swear, Barnes. I think you’re the last person on Earth who still doesn’t use social media. Even my grandmother has a Friend Connect page! But, yes. Friend Connect is a social meeting space where you can post pictures, connect with video calls, send messages, that kind of thing. It’s crazy popular. KitzTech also put out Date Space. Do you know that one?’

‘No, what the hell is that?’ I ask.

Lanner rolls his eyes. ‘It’s another app where you can connect with singles in your area and it gives you a private, virtual space to connect before you meet in person. Slightly less sleazy than other dating apps. Trust me. I’ve tried out a few. But if sleazy is your thing, KitzTech also created Secret Message. It’s an app that you can download on your phone to send discrete messages with anyone else using the program. The messages automatically disappear after they’re read. You can imagine what that one is used for …’ Lanner explains with a goofy smile.

‘So, basically what I’m hearing is that Vince Taylor is probably pretty wealthy?’

‘Try extremely wealthy,’ Lanner replies. ‘You gotta see his house.’

Lanner pulls out his phone and quickly taps away at it before turning it around and showing me a photo of what could easily pass for a luxury resort. The house, or I should say mansion, is incredible. An expansive villa set against a wooded backdrop. The aerial view Lanner found highlights the private pool, tennis courts, and long winding drive. The large property is extremely secluded and bordered by a stately stone wall – the only thing separating the grandeur of the home from the tangled woodland surrounding it.

‘Just a touch larger than my apartment,’ I scoff with a roll of my eyes, as I envision my tiny one-bedroom rental with the rattling air-conditioner that can’t seem to keep up with the suffocating heat wave we’ve been experiencing.

‘I’ll say,’ Lanner agrees. ‘But if it makes you feel any better, his commute into the city from Loch Harbor probably sucks.’

That earns him another eye roll. ‘You know, somehow that doesn’t make me feel any better at all.’

‘Anyway,’ Lanner continues, ‘did you get anything good from your interview with him?’

‘Not really. He didn’t seem to know the victim too well. She was just an intern and she’s only been here a few months, but there was something about him that didn’t sit right with me. I’m gonna scope him out later. You get anything good?’

‘Not much. The vic worked with the development team. They were working on some new app or something. All very top secret,’ Lanner says. ‘Pretty much everyone on the team had the same things to say about her though: she was a quiet girl, kept to herself, but very bright and very ambitious. Apparently she showed a lot of promise.’

‘Any luck getting in touch with her next of kin?’

‘No,’ Lanner explains, ‘but I had Kinnon drop by her address this morning and he got in touch with her neighbor. She’s on her way down to the morgue now to ID the body.’

‘Let’s meet her there,’ I say.

I hate the morgue. I can’t count how many times I’ve been here during my years on the job, but it never gets any easier. The cold metal slabs, the blue-gray lifeless bodies, and the smell of formaldehyde make me shudder every time. But I have to keep it together. I’ve only recently been promoted to detective and this is the first major homicide investigation that I’ve been put in charge of, and so I don’t want to show any signs of weakness.

Lanner and I have worked together for a long time. Although he made detective almost a year before I did, we more or less came up the ranks together, so he already knows my feelings on hanging out with dead bodies. But still, as lead detective on this case, I feel like I have something to prove. Lanner is a good guy, but he’s still exactly that … a guy. In a male-dominated police force, I can’t afford to look like I can’t handle the gore that comes along with the job.

‘You ready?’ Lanner asks.

‘Of course.’

I pull back my shoulders, shake off the eerie chill that this place gives me, and walk into the lobby to meet Layla Bosch’s neighbor.

We find her sitting on one of the small wooden chairs in the waiting room under a mop of frizzy black curls. She seems almost folded in on herself, making herself appear as small as possible, while she nervously picks at the skin on the side of her thumb.

‘Hi, I’m Detective Allison Barnes,’ I say gently as I approach. ‘And this is my partner, Detective Jake Lanner.’

‘I’m Mindy,’ the woman says in a small voice, as she brushes a rogue curl away from her face. ‘I can’t believe this is happening. Are you sure it’s Layla?’

‘We think so,’ Lanner says. ‘We found her work ID badge on her when we arrived at the scene this morning. But we need you to identify the body, if you can, so that we can be sure the woman we found is Layla Bosch.’

‘Yes, I can do that,’ Mindy says, pulling herself to a stand. It looks as though she’s doing her best to brace herself for what’s to come.

‘Follow me,’ I tell her as I lead the way to the viewing room.

‘Do I have to … go in the room?’ Mindy asks, her eyes widening. ‘You know … with the body?’

‘No,’ I assure her. ‘The coroner will go into the autopsy room and he’ll pull back the sheet, just away from her face. You’ll see her here,’ I explain, indicating a television monitor in the center of the room.

‘And all you’ll have to do is tell us if you recognize the body. If it’s Layla,’ Lanner adds.

‘Okay. I can do that,’ Mindy says, but she can’t seem to stop her hands from shaking.

The television flickers to life and the familiar face of the coroner, Dr Allen Gress, appears on the screen. ‘Are you ready?’ he asks.

Lanner presses a button on the intercom next to the screen. ‘We are,’ he says. ‘Go ahead.’

Dr Gress gently lifts a white sheet away from the victim’s face. He’s cleaned her up a bit since we’ve last seen her. Her face is no longer splattered with dirt, and her hair, which was matted with blood this morning, has been carefully brushed away from her face. The red dress, mottled with dark red blood, that she was wearing when we found her, has been cut away and replaced with a clean white sheet tucked neatly under her sides.

I hear Mindy take a sharp breath, and then she covers her mouth with her hands. ‘That’s her,’ she says. ‘That’s my neighbor. Layla Bosch,’ she manages before she begins to sob. Her hands tremble in front of her face and I can see red splotches blooming on her cheeks underneath.

‘Thanks, Dr Gress,’ Lanner says through the intercom. The coroner nods and pulls the sheet back over Layla’s face as I switch off the screen.

I lead a tearful Mindy to a seat while Lanner goes to talk to Dr Gress about his findings thus far.

‘Do you mind answering a few more questions for me?’ I ask Mindy gently.

‘Of course. Anything I can do to help.’ Mindy’s eyes fill with tears again and I hand her a tissue from a box on the small end table situated next to us.

‘We’ve been trying to track down Layla’s family,’ I explain. ‘We haven’t been able to find any next of kin for her.’

‘She doesn’t have any family, I don’t think. She told me that her parents and her only brother were killed in car accident when she was very young. She was raised by her grandmother who recently passed, which is how she ended up moving to Brooklyn in the apartment next to mine. After her grandmother died she wanted a fresh start. Oh my God, I can’t believe she’s really gone.’ The tears in Mindy’s eyes begin to fall.

‘Were you two close?’

‘We were becoming pretty good friends, I guess’ she replies. ‘Layla only just moved to town but I made an effort to get to know her. I live alone too, and I figured two single girls should look out for each other. She was kind of shy at first, kept to herself, but lately we’ve been spending more time together. Having a glass of wine after work, that sort of thing.’

‘Did you ever meet any of her other friends? Boyfriends?’

‘I don’t think she had anyone else,’ Mindy explains. ‘She was new to town and really only ever talked about people she worked with. It didn’t seem like she socialized with them much outside of the office though. I don’t think she was seeing anyone either. If she was, she never mentioned it. I told her about my love life, or lack thereof, all the time. I think she would have told me if she was dating.’

‘Thanks, Mindy. You’ve been really helpful,’ I reassure her, handing her my card. ‘If you think of anything else, you can call me any time.’

Lanner folds himself into the passenger seat of my car, his long lanky legs nearly pressed up against the glove compartment. He slams the door behind him, making me wince. He always slams the damn door. It’s infuriating. He immediately rips open a bag of chips, shoving a handful in his mouth. I watch the greasy crumbs fall onto the passenger seat of my car. Also infuriating. I don’t know how Lanner manages to stay so thin with all the junk he eats.

‘What did Dr Gress have to say?’ I ask.

‘He hasn’t finished his autopsy yet,’ Lanner replies while munching away, ‘but his initial impression is that the cause of death was blunt force trauma to the back of the head. He’s putting her time of death at approximately 9.30 last night. Give or take about a half hour.’

‘That’s consistent with CSI’s initial findings. When they looked at the site this morning they said that the blood spatter along the jogging trail looked like it came from a blow to the head. They’re still canvassing the area, but no sign of the murder weapon yet.’

‘What’s the plan?’ Lanner asks.

‘I’ve asked Kinnon to put together a team to check CCTV footage. There are no cameras in that area of the park, but maybe we can pick her up somewhere heading into the park. See if anyone was following her.’

‘Good idea,’ Lanner agrees. ‘Where to now?’

‘Let’s go see what we can find at her apartment.’

Chapter 3
Vince
DAY 1

I park my Tesla in my driveway and take a deep breath, my hands still curved around the leather-wrapped steering wheel. I plaster on a fake smile and check my reflection in the rearview mirror. I’m surprised to see that despite the fear roiling inside me, I look like my usual self, or at least the image of myself that I’ve carefully cultivated over the years. The CEO. The tech mogul. The rock climber. The philanthropist. It frightens me how easily I’m able to turn it on. To tramp down my true feelings and play the part. But right now it’s what I have to do. I have to pretend that the world is not crumbling beneath my feet.

I walk up the front path to my house reminding myself that today is just any other day. It has to be, as far as Nicole is concerned anyway. I stand in front of the house for a moment, under the clear blue sky, steeling myself for the conversation I know I need to have. Our house, a Mediterranean villa styled after a home we once rented on the Amalfi Coast, stares back at me unforgivingly. Its stone archways, sweeping balconies, and soaring pillars already seem to be aware of the lies I’m about to tell within its walls.

I push open the double entry door and step onto the shining travertine floors of the foyer. Nicole loved these floors when we were first designing the house. I remember watching her poring over sample materials with our team of designers, choosing a palette of warm cream tones and cool grays for the home we were to build. She used color names like ‘River Rock Gray’, ‘Dove White’, and ‘Vanilla Cream’. All natural hues, an earthy palette that would make the house feel both bright and tranquil, at one with the natural landscape surrounding it.

I drop my keys on the entryway table and call up the grand staircase which leads to the second floor bedrooms, but Nicole doesn’t answer. I’m about to walk up the stairs when I catch a whiff of roasted garlic in the air, and decide to check the kitchen instead.

Our kitchen combines traditional Mediterranean design with ultra-modern amenities. The warm, sun-dappled room features natural stone surfaces with top-of-the-line stainless steel appliances fit for a chef. It’s one of Nicole’s favorite rooms in the house as it seamlessly flows out onto our pergola-covered patio where we often sit to eat outdoors. This space always feels warm and inviting, and today it’s also filled with the unmistakable scent of Nicole’s homemade lasagna. It’s her specialty, her recipe perfected over the years. But Nicole isn’t here.

I crack open the oven, something I know my wife would hate, but I can’t resist the temptation to peer in at the bubbling cheese.

‘You aren’t opening the oven are you?’ Nicole calls in.

‘How do you always know?’ I yell back.

‘I know everything,’ Nicole teases as she appears in the doorway of the kitchen. No, you don’t.

‘Lasagna looks delicious, Babe.’ I slide my arm around her slender waist. ‘Were you in your studio?’ I take in the sight of her yoga pants, Lycra tank top, and her long blonde hair pulled back into a thick plait that hangs down her back.

‘Yes, I wanted to get in a little yoga session before we indulge in all that pasta and cheese,’ she says, patting her flat, toned stomach.

Nicole swipes an oven mitt off of the counter and lifts the steaming tray of lasagna from the oven. ‘It needs to set for a few minutes.’ She says this as if I’m not very well aware of her lasagna schedule by now. ‘I’m going to take a quick shower and then we’ll eat.’

‘Sure. I’ll set the table.’

Nicole rises up onto her tip-toes, and I lean over so that she can give me a quick kiss before she makes her way out of the kitchen. I can’t help but steal another glance as she’s walking away. With her trim, petite figure and the delicate way she pads out of the room, she reminds me of a little bird. But my wife is anything but fragile. She’s been through so much and she’s always remained so strong. I just hope she can do it again.

I remember the first time I ever saw Nicole. It was about ten years ago, when KitzTech was just a start-up. I was looking for office space to rent, and had found an ad online for a postage stamp-sized room available for lease. I called the listing agent, and to my surprise, it was within my minuscule budget. I set up an appointment to see it that afternoon, and jotted down the address on a scrap of paper. A few hours later, I found myself staring up at the old brick building wondering if I had the right address. I opened the battered-looking door on the first floor of the building and walked into a small, but beautiful, art gallery. Nicole stepped out from behind a desk, wearing a delicate, flowing dress in a soft pink. Her long, white-blonde hair fell loose around her face giving her an almost ethereal look.

‘Can I help you?’ she asked.

I was so mesmerized by the frosty turquoise blue of her eyes that I couldn’t bring myself to answer right away. ‘Oh, uh, yeah, I think I may be lost,’ I eventually stammered.

‘Can I see this?’ She gently took the scrap of paper with the office address from my hand. ‘Oh, that’s the unit upstairs,’ she explained. ‘The entrance is around the other side of the building.’

‘Um, thanks.’ I tried to tear my eyes away from her, but found it nearly impossible. She was the loveliest creature I had ever seen. I went to see the dank, musty office space upstairs and rented it on the spot. I didn’t care that it wasn’t at all what I was looking for. Because I needed to see that girl again. It felt like a fait accompli. I was meant to meet Nicole.

I don’t know how I’ve strayed so far from the starry-eyed young man who accidentally stumbled into the art gallery that day. I don’t know when exactly I lost that version of myself and became this person, the one with so many secrets to protect, but I am not proud of the transformation.

Just as I finish setting the table and putting together a quick chopped salad, Nicole walks back into the room pulling me from my reverie. She’s barefoot with her long, damp hair thrown back over her shoulders.

‘You even made a salad,’ Nicole says. She’s smiling as she takes a seat at the table and tucks her legs up under her.

‘See? I told you I could cook.’

Nicole laughs. I never cook and we both know it. Burnt toast is the most I can manage most of the time.

‘How was your day?’ I ask before she has the chance to ask me about mine.

‘It was good, I taught a few classes this morning, and then I had a client come in for a private session in my studio.’

We built a yoga studio for Nicole on a cleared section of our wooded property last year. It’s built in a converted and air-conditioned greenhouse that lets Nicole’s affluent and captious clients feel at one with nature without having to actually deal with any of the inconveniences of the outdoors.

‘I’m glad the studio is working out so well.’

‘The clients love it and I do too,’ Nicole replies nodding. ‘It’s so peaceful out there.’

There’s a brief moment of silence while we both dig into the rich lasagna, letting the flavors melt on our tongues.

‘Anyway,’ Nicole says, ‘how was your day?’

Here we go. ‘Well … not so good, actually. A few detectives came by the office this morning. It turns out one of our interns was killed last night.’ My voice waivers as I choke out the words and I clear my throat to steady myself.

‘Oh how awful!’ Nicole exclaims. She drops her fork and looks up at me, her eyes wide.

I feel my cheeks grow warm under her expectant gaze. I know she’s waiting to hear more, waiting for an explanation.

‘Yeah, it was an unexpected visit, to say the least,’ I reply, trying to sound as casual as I can under the circumstances.

‘I’m sure.’ Nicole resumes twirling cheese around her fork.

She doesn’t yet know that there’s nothing casual about this. Not for me. Not for us. Nicole is the most caring and kind-hearted person I’ve ever met, but she doesn’t understand yet. She couldn’t. She’s hearing this story at a remove; like one who learns of a death on the evening news and thinks to themselves, ‘Such a shame’ while taking for granted the luxury of being able to simply flick the channel and let the tragedy gently drift from their minds. Aren’t we all guilty of this though? Of failing to internalize the plight of others? We may feel compassion, perhaps even sympathy, but a stranger’s pain doesn’t keep us up at night when it doesn’t reach out its cold, spindly fingers and touch our own lives. When the suffering isn’t ours to carry, we wash it off hastily and unceremoniously and, if we’re being honest, quietly think to ourselves that we’re glad to be rid of it and the mild discomfort we fleetingly felt as a result of its proximity to our lives.

‘Who was it?’ Nicole asks, yanking me back from the darkness of my own thoughts.

‘Huh?’

‘The intern. Who was it?’

‘Her name was Layla. She was new. I don’t think you ever met her.’

‘Such a shame.’ Nicole shakes her head sadly. ‘Do the police know what happened to her?’

I shake my head. ‘All I know is that she was found in Central Park early this morning. They came by the office looking for anyone who knew her.’

‘Did you know her? Layla?’

Now is the time to tell her the truth. ‘No, not really,’ I lie. ‘I’m sure we crossed paths a few times, but like I said, she was relatively new at the company, so I didn’t really have the chance to get to know her too well.’

‘Well, I think it’s terrible what the city is coming to. Can’t even take a walk through the park without having to worry these days.’

I nod in agreement.

We eat the rest of our meal in relative silence, making small talk about the weather, her class schedule, the new video game branch we’re planning to launch at KitzTech, but the darkness of Layla’s death has already settled between us and Nicole doesn’t know that it’s only going to get worse from here.

I help Nicole clear the table, loading the dishes into the dishwasher and packing the leftovers into the refrigerator.

‘I have to make a few calls,’ I tell her. ‘And then maybe we can have a drink by the pool?’

‘Sure, sounds great.’

I head to my home office and wait until I hear Nicole open the sliding doors to the yard and close them behind her. I sit down in the plush leather chair behind my polished mahogany desk. Unlike my office at KitzTech, my home office is far more traditional. Large built-in bookshelves wrap the walls in warm wood tones, and a bar cart stands at the ready with a crystal decanter of amber whiskey which beckons to me now. I resist the temptation to pour myself a glass, even though I know that the phone call I’m about to make will not be an easy one.

I fish my phone out of my pocket and call my best friend, Jeff. Who also happens to be an attorney.

‘Hey! Vince! Been a while, buddy!’ Jeff exclaims.

‘Sure has,’ I reply, unable to match his enthusiasm.

‘Uh oh, sounds like this isn’t a social call then?’

‘No, unfortunately it’s not.’ I take a deep breath. I don’t know if I’m making the right choice, letting the truth out into the open, but I need advice and I know I can trust Jeff. ‘One of the interns from my company was killed last night.’

‘Oh, man! That’s awful.’

‘But here’s the thing. I was sleeping with her.’ There. I said it.

Jeff is silent for a moment. I look down at my phone to see if the call is still connected. ‘Are you kidding me, Vince?’ he says. He can’t keep the judgment out of his voice. Or maybe he isn’t trying to. Jeff and I have been friends since we were kids. He’s never been one to mince words with me. ‘You’re married to Nicole. That woman is a goddess. What the hell were you doing getting some on the side?’

‘I’m an idiot, okay?’ I concede. ‘But that’s not the point. I was sleeping with her, and now she’s dead.’

‘Are you telling me you had something to do with it?’ Jeff begins, ‘Because if you are—’

‘No! Jesus, Jeff! How long have we known each other? Do you really think I’d … kill someone?’

‘No, you’re right. Of course not. I’m sorry,’ Jeff says, backing down. ‘I just didn’t see this coming. I always thought you and Nicole were the perfect couple.’

‘We are. Were. It’s complicated. I’ll explain all of that another time. But right now I need your help.’

I fill Jeff in on my meeting with Detective Barnes this morning.

‘So you didn’t tell them about your involvement with Layla then?’ he asks as I conclude my story.

‘No. I didn’t know what to do. No one knows about the affair and I thought if I mentioned it, I’d only make myself look guilty.’

‘That’s true, but if the police find out on their own, it’s only going to look worse for you.’

‘What the hell am I supposed to do?’ I groan.

‘Well, let me ask you this: how careful were you and Layla about covering your tracks?’

‘We were very careful. She knew that this couldn’t get out. She knew I was never going to leave Nicole, and that it would be some serious bad press for KitzTech. It was supposed to be a no-strings-attached thing. We only communicated through an app that sends messages over the Internet and they are automatically erased after they’re read.’

‘And you’re sure that there’s no record of those messages anywhere?’ Jeff inquires skeptically.

‘Positive. I developed that app myself.’ That much I feel confident about.

‘Well that’s on your side, but these things have a way of getting out. You said this girl was only twenty-three. She was probably gossiping to all her girlfriends about banging her boss. As your lawyer, let me sleep on this, figure out if we should bring the affair to the police’s attention or not. But as your friend, I’d advise you to tell Nicole. If this gets out, and she has to hear about it from anyone but you, I’m sure it won’t go over well.’

‘God, I’m such a fucking idiot,’ I reply, dropping my head into my hands.

‘Yes, you are,’ Jeff agrees. ‘Call me immediately if anything else happens.’

‘Thanks, I will.’

I end the call and stare down at my phone for a moment. I know it’s time. It’s time to tell Nicole the truth. Well, most of it anyway.

Chapter 4
Vince
DAY 1

I walk out into the yard, running my hands through my hair. I have to stop doing that. Maybe that’s why my hair is thinning. I can’t lose Nicole. I just can’t. What happened with Layla was stupid, reckless. It was just sex. A fleeting, visceral entanglement. But what I have with Nicole is real, and it was supposed to last forever. We may have hit a rough patch in our marriage, but I don’t want this to be the end of the line for us. Jeff is right though. I have to tell her. I owe her the truth, and if she hears it from anyone but me, I know I’ll lose her for good.

It’s growing dark outside, the sky an inky midnight blue, but our yard looks like an oasis in the darkness. Underwater lights illuminate the pool in a celestial blue, and the lush garden surrounding it is dotted with soft fairy lights strung along the trees. Between two lounge chairs on the deck Nicole has placed a silver ice bucket with a bottle of white wine sticking out of the top, the cork already pulled. Condensation from the chilled wine is beading on the neck of the bottle and slowly sliding down into the ice below. Two crystal glasses stand on either side of the bucket waiting to be filled. I pour each of us a generous portion of the wine and take a small sip from the brim of my glass. I feel the of bite of the Chardonnay on my tongue.

‘Wine?’ I ask Nicole gently. She’s sitting on the edge of the pool in a pink silk robe, her feet dangling into the water, swishing back and forth methodically.

Nicole shakes her head sadly but takes the glass from my hand. She doesn’t have to tell me what this means. She’s not pregnant. The latest round of IVF has failed.

‘I’m so sorry, honey. But we’ll keep trying. There’s always next time,’ I say reassuringly.

‘Is there though? What will make the next round any different than the last one? Or the one before that, or the one before that?’ Her words sound defensive but her voice sounds broken, defeated. ‘I’ll be turning thirty-two next month. I don’t know how many more shots at this I’m going to get.’

‘As many as it takes,’ I tell her with certainty. ‘You still have plenty of time. And I know how badly you want this. I do too. You’re going to be an amazing mother some day. I know it.’

‘Well, today is not that day, so we might as well make the most of it.’ She takes a large gulp of her wine and places the glass on the edge of the pool. Nicole hasn’t had more than a sip of alcohol in years to increase her chances of getting pregnant. But it seems like she needs this tonight. She slips off the silk robe and I see her naked silhouette set against the glow of the pool in front of her. She dives into the water hovering below the surface for a moment. When she resurfaces, her pale breasts just beneath the water’s edge, she looks up at me with her impossibly blue eyes and says, ‘Are you going to join me?’

I strip down slowly with Nicole watching me from the water, and slide into the pool beside her. Nicole wraps her legs around my waist and kisses my lips, slowly and passionately. Her kiss has the same bite as the wine.

There is no way I can tell her now.

Chapter 5
Vince
BEFORE

I hear a light rap on my open door which causes me to look up from my desk. I find myself staring at an unfamiliar, and strikingly beautiful, face surrounded by luxuriant, chocolate brown hair that falls in soft waves down her back.

‘Sorry to interrupt, Mr Taylor. I can come back another time if you’re busy,’ the woman says in a smooth, yet delicate, voice. She is standing in my doorway wearing a form-fitting black dress that accentuates her hourglass figure and the perfect roundness of her breasts which curve over the top of its V-shaped neckline.

‘No, please come in,’ I say, gesturing for her to take a seat in my office. ‘What can I help you with?’

The woman strides into my office, the scent of her sugar-sweet perfume trailing behind her, and sits herself in a chair across from my desk. She crosses one long, tanned leg over her thigh and I can’t help but notice her black leather heels and pink polished toes.

‘My name is Layla Bosch, I’m one of the new interns. I just started last week,’ she says extending a perfectly manicured hand to me. ‘I just wanted to introduce myself, Mr Taylor.’

‘Please, call me Vince.’ I give her my hand and silently chide myself for taking note of the gentle curves of her body. ‘I’m glad you stopped by. It shows initiative. How are you finding KitzTech so far?’

‘Oh, it’s great. Everyone has been wonderful. I really think I’m going to love it here.’

‘I’m so glad to hear that. What department are you in?’

‘I’m working with the development team. Jason was assigned as my supervisor, and he’s just brilliant. I feel like I’ve already learned so much.’

Her deep brown eyes sparkle and they seem to dance as she speaks.

‘That’s great,’ I reply. ‘Jason is fantastic. We have a lot of new projects coming up and I’m sure he’ll be keeping you guys busy.’

‘Good, I’m looking forward to it. Anyway, as I said, I just stopped by to introduce myself. I won’t take up any more of your time. But I hope to see you again soon.’ Layla gracefully rises from her chair.

‘Thanks again for dropping in,’ I tell her. ‘And I’m sure we will be seeing more of each other.’ At least I certainly hope so.

I try to shake off thoughts of Layla as I turn back to my work. She’s stunning, and my attraction to this this woman, who is so much Nicole’s opposite, takes me by surprise. I look over at the framed photo of Nicole that I keep on my desk, her icy blue eyes staring back into mine. Perhaps it’s because Layla represents something foreign, the allure of the unknown calling to the part of me that sometimes yearns to break free from the routine that has become my life. Yes, that’s all it is. This isn’t attraction, it’s wanderlust, the same pull that drives us to escape to the tropics when snow blankets our known landscapes. But, sooner or later, we all find ourselves longing for the comforts of home. I glance over at the photo of Nicole one last time. At her white-blonde hair, and her familiar smile. She is my home. I can’t forget that.

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