The fluorescent lights feel like they're drilling into my skull by the time my shift finally ends.
I push through the employee door at 8:02 AM, my body moving on autopilot after eight hours of restocking shelves and pretending Holly's bruised face isn't burned into my retinas. The morning sun hits me like a physical force, and I have to squint against it as I scan the parking lot.
Emily's silver Audi sits in the fire lane, engine purring, looking completely out of place among the beat-up Hondas and rusted pickup trucks that usually occupy Quick Mart's lot. My chest loosens at the sight of it, some tension I didn't know I was carrying bleeding away.
"Is that your wife?"
I turn to find Sienna standing in the doorway behind me, her blonde curls catching the morning light. She's got this look on her face, half curiosity and half something else I can't quite identify.
"Yeah," I say, already moving toward the car.
"She drives an Audi?" Sienna's voice follows me across the pavement.
"Yeah."
"Why do you work here then?"
The question makes me pause, my hand on the passenger door handle. I glance back at her, at her confused expression and wrinkled uniform vest, and I just shrug. Because what am I supposed to say? Because I need to feel useful? Because sitting at home while Emily pays for everything makes me feel like a kept pet?
I slide into the passenger seat. The leather seat molds to my body, and I'm suddenly aware of how much I probably smell like hot dogs and floor cleaner.
"Hey, baby," Emily says, leaning over to kiss my cheek. Her silver hair is loose today, cascading over her shoulders in waves that catch the sunlight. "How was your shift?"
"Long," I manage, clicking my seatbelt into place.
She puts the car in drive, and we pull away from Quick Mart. I watch Sienna's figure shrink in the side mirror, still standing in that doorway, watching us leave.
Emily's eyes flick to the rearview mirror as she merges onto the main road. "Who was that?"
The question is casual, but something in her tone makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I twist in my seat to look at her profile, at the way her jaw is just slightly tighter than usual, her fingers gripping the steering wheel with a bit more pressure than necessary.
"Sienna Fox," I say, watching her reaction carefully. "We went to high school together. She just started working overnight shifts."
Emily's silent for a beat too long, her eyes still fixed on the road ahead.
"She's pretty," Emily finally says, her voice perfectly neutral in that way that means it's anything but.
My stomach tightens. "I guess. I never really paid attention."
Emily's head turns toward me, just for a second, before her eyes return to the road. One perfectly sculpted eyebrow arches in a way that makes my palms sweat.
"Was that a lie?" she asks softly.
The question hangs between us like a knife. My mouth goes dry because of course it was a lie. I spent most of junior and senior year mentally cataloging every detail of Sienna Fox's existence, the way her laugh carried across the cafeteria, how she tucked her hair behind her left ear when she was concentrating, the exact shade of brown her eyes turned in direct sunlight.
"I mean..." I start, then stop. The truth feels like betraying myself somehow, like admitting to some crime I committed before I even knew Emily existed. "I had a crush on her in high school. But that was before…"
"How big of a crush?" Emily's voice is still perfectly calm, but her knuckles are white on the steering wheel.
"It doesn't matter," I say quickly. "That was a lifetime ago. I'm married to you now."
Emily's quiet for a long moment, navigating through a yellow light that's already turning red. The silence stretches until I can hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.
"Did you fantasize about her?" she asks, and there's something dangerous threading through her tone now. "Did you touch yourself thinking about her?"
Heat floods my face. "Emily…"
"Answer me, Danny. I need to know."
My throat closes up. Because yes, obviously yes, I was a teenage boy with a hopeless crush and an internet connection. But admitting that now feels like I'm somehow being unfaithful, even though it happened years before Emily and I ever met.
"It was high school," I finally manage. "Everyone did that."
Emily's laugh comes out sharp and bitter sound "Is it a blonde thing?"
"What?" I turn to stare at her fully now, confusion cutting through my embarrassment.
"Her hair." Emily's fingers drum against the steering wheel, her eyes fixed on the road with laser focus. "It's blonde and curly. You know I can get my hair done to be…"
"Emily, no." The words come out more forcefully than I intend, and I reach over to touch her arm. "I adore your hair the way it is."
She doesn't respond, doesn't even glance at me. The Audi glides through another intersection, smooth and silent except for the tension crackling between us.
"You are the most beautiful woman I've ever met," I say, meaning every word with an intensity that makes my chest ache.
But Emily's jaw stays tight, her profile carved from marble as she navigates toward our neighborhood. The compliment seems to bounce off her like rain off glass, leaving no mark, no softening of her features.
"Most beautiful woman you've ever met," she repeats, and there's something cold in her voice. "But you still spent years fantasizing about some blonde cheerleader looking girl."
My fingers tighten around the armrest. The leather squeaks under my grip.
"Well, what did you two talk about?" Emily asks, her tone deceptively light.
I sigh, resignation settling over me like a heavy blanket.
"She asked if I was fucking Holly on the side," I say, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.
Emily's foot hits the brake harder than necessary at a stop sign. The Audi jerks slightly, and I brace myself against the dashboard.
"She what?" Her head whips toward me, those blue eyes suddenly blazing with something that makes my stomach drop.
"She saw Holly outside the store last night," I explain quickly. "Holly showed up at the window, and I went out to talk to her. Sienna noticed and just... assumed things."
"Holly was at your work?"
"Yeah." My throat feels tight. "She looked... bad, Emily. Really bad."
"Bad how?" The words come out clipped, controlled.
I swallow hard, knowing this next part is going to hurt. "Bruised. Like someone beat the shit out of her. Her glasses were taped together. Her face was purple and yellow."
Emily's expression doesn't change. Not even a flicker. She just stares at me, perfectly still, and that's somehow worse than any reaction would have been.
"What did she say to you?" Emily asks, her voice dropping to something dangerously soft.
"She asked if you did it." The words tumble out before I can stop them. "If you had her jumped. She said some men in masks attacked her a few days after you kicked her out."
The silence grows even more suffocating.
"And what did you tell her?" she finally asks.
"I told her no," I say, meeting Emily's gaze steadily. "I said there's no way that you would do something like that."
Emily's entire body relaxes, tension bleeding out of her shoulders like water. A smile spreads across her face, warm and genuine, and she reaches over to cup my cheek with one hand.
"Good boy," she murmurs, her thumb stroking my skin in a way that makes my chest tighten with something that feels dangerously close to relief.
"Holly left after that," I continue, watching her expression carefully. "Just walked off into the parking lot."
"Good." The word comes out satisfied, almost pleased, and Emily turns back to the road. She accelerates through the intersection, the Audi purring smoothly beneath us. "That's exactly where she should be. Far away from you."
I nod, but my mind is still churning, still replaying the image of Holly's bruised face in the fluorescent light.
"What about after?" Emily asks, her voice lighter now, almost casual. "With this Sienna girl?"
My stomach does a weird flip. "What about her?"
Emily's grip on my hand tightens just slightly. "What else did you two talk about, besides her asking if you were fucking my daughter?"
I shift in my seat, suddenly uncomfortable. "Not much. She mentioned she has a boyfriend. That they're in an open relationship or something."
The Audi slows as Emily processes this information. I watch her profile, trying to read the emotions flickering across her face.
"An open relationship," Emily repeats, and there's something calculating in her tone now. "And she just volunteered that information?"
"Yeah," I say, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. "She started going on about how she and her boyfriend are swingers. Like she was proud of it or something."
Emily's eyebrow arches. "She's in an open relationship and she's a swinger?"
"I guess?" I shrug. "I told her it wasn't really my business."
"And what did she say to that?"
I exhale through my nose, remembering Sienna's persistent energy, how she kept circling back to the topic like she was trying to prove something. "She wouldn't shut up about it. Kept talking about how liberating it is, how she and Zach have this whole community they're part of. Asked me like three times if I had any questions."
I watch Emily's jaw tighten as she turns onto our street.
"You know we're not in an open relationship, right?" she says, her voice carefully controlled. "Despite what I do for work, you don't have my permission to just cheat on me."
The words land heavier than they should. "I know," I say immediately, my chest tightening. "Emily, I wasn't…"
"Good." She pulls into our driveway, the Audi's engine purring to a stop. But she doesn't move to get out. Just sits there, staring through the windshield at our garage door.
I swallow hard, needing her to understand something that's been sitting in my chest since Curaçao. "You know, outside of work, I'd consider sex cheating too."
Her head whips toward me, those blue eyes wide and suddenly vulnerable. The shift is so dramatic it makes my breath catch. All that controlled anger melts away, replaced by something that looks almost like fear.
"Of course, Danny," she says quickly, her hand reaching for mine. Her fingers are trembling. "I would never do that to you. Never."
I squeeze her hand, feeling the tension bleeding from both of us.
"Work is work," Emily continues, her thumb stroking circles against my palm. "But anything outside of that? That would be cheating. I would never…" Her voice cracks slightly. "You believe me, right?"
"I do," I say, and I mean it. The distinction makes perfect sense in my head, even if the rest of the world wouldn't understand it.
We make our way to the house where Emily unlocks the front door, and we step into the cool dimness of the house. She sets her keys on the entry table, her silver hair catching the light filtering through the curtains. I watch her move toward the kitchen, and something heavy settles in my chest.
"Hey," I say, following her. "You don't have any feelings for your clients, do you?"
She stops mid-step, turning to face me with wide eyes. "No," she says immediately, firmly. "Not at all, Danny."
I nod, but my throat feels tight. "Are they better than me?"
Emily closes the distance between us in two strides, her hands cupping my face with such tenderness it makes my chest ache. "Sex is special with you, Danny, because it's really, truly making love." Her thumbs stroke my cheeks as she holds my gaze. "There's nothing performative happening, even if we're roleplaying. It's just us. In love. Having fun."
Her eyes shimmer with emotion, and I feel something loosen in my chest.
"I don't think there's any better feeling than being with someone you trust and care for and need in that kind of way," she continues, her voice dropping to something soft and reverent. "What I do with clients is fun. It feels good, but is ultimately empty. However, with you?" She leans forward, pressing her forehead against mine. "With you, it's everything."
"It feels good, though?" I ask, needing to understand this part of her life that exists separate from me. "When you're with them?"
Emily pulls back slightly, considering the question with more seriousness than I expected. "Danny, I like sex, so most of the time, yeah." She shrugs, and there's something pragmatic in her expression now. "But I'm not a nymphomaniac or anything. It's just a job. I just figure it's better if I enjoy it."
The honesty in her words settles something in me. There's no guilt in her voice, no shame, just simple truth.
"I think I'll be able to retire in a couple of years if things go well," she continues, her fingers trailing down to interlace with mine. "I've been saving aggressively. Once I hit my target number, I'm done. No more clients. Just you and me."
My breath catches. "Really?"
"Really." She squeezes my hand, her blue eyes bright with something that looks like hope. "I want a normal life with you, Danny."
Her words hit me like a freight train. The idea of Emily retiring, of having her all to myself without sharing her with anyone else, makes my heart race. But something in her expression shifts, becomes more calculating as she studies my face.
"So let's explore this cuck stuff while we have the chance," she says, her voice taking on that purr that always makes my spine tingle. "Because once I'm out, I'm out. It'll just be us then."
The logic makes sense in a way that probably shouldn't. This is our window. Our opportunity to explore something I admitted I'm curious about while it's still part of her normal routine. Once she retires, that door closes forever.
"Okay."