"Greta. I live here, and I make love to
you. Ms. Maupin, who, as you are now aware, is your husband's
lover, lives in San Francisco. How many times, Greta, has he told
you he's working late at the office? Do you ever check on him
when he goes away? Are you so certain he isn't just fifty miles
from home and at her place, not where he says he's going." He
touched his finger to her chin. "Need I go on?"
She met his eyes. "No," she said quietly, and he kissed her.
Well, Matthew, she thought, tit for tat, and told herself to let
it go. Then she remembered how this whole crazy afternoon had
started.
She held up the receipt.
"When do I start packing?" she said and gave the form a little
shake.
He took it and opened it and smiled and wrapped his arms around
her waist and kissed her chest and lifted her off the ground.
"We're going home!" he hooted.
Then he grimaced and made a pained sound and nearly dropped her.
"Darling! What is it? Your shoulder?"
He nodded, closed his eyes to fight off the pain.
"Oh, you poor thing. When we go we've got to get that fixed for
you, first thing. I don't care what it costs."
He shook his head. "It's very expensive," he said.
"I don't care. Now I want you to promise me you'll let me do that
for you. Promise?"
"Yes," he said, "I promise."
"Good," Greta said, and began unbuttoning her blouse.
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