I Needed My Husband to Cheat

"She's plain. What makes her think a woman like that could ever be the reason I settle down?" That was my husband. Talking about me. To somebody else.

And for the first time in a year, I could breathe. I chased that man for three years. The biggest player in New York. Then I took him secondhand for one more.

This past year he came home later and later, and every time he looked at me he looked a little more disgusted. Good. Otherwise I'd never have found a way to ask for the divorce.

Let me put it plainly. I never loved him. I loved his face. But a face can't hold up a whole life. Chapter 1 Middle of the night. Marlowe came home. Two months gone.

One anniversary missed. Half asleep, I got flipped over. Before my face hit the pillow, I caught the perfume. Loud. Hot. Very him. Except it was a woman's.

I twisted around and looked up at a face with no bad angle. His throat worked. Abs stacked like a wall. Those two clean lines cutting down into his waistband.

There was so much want in his eyes it should have burned me alive. No wonder he'd held the top spot on the tabloids' Hottest Man Alive list five years running. Then he saw my face.

He stalled. His eyes cleared, and whatever he'd walked in with dropped by half. He wasn't going to stop, though.

Every place he touched crawled, like that patch of skin had been dragged under a spotlight. Everything in me wanted out. So I said babe. Twice.

I made some sticky little sounds and pitched my voice up sweet. "Babe, how come you're home early?" "I missed you so much.

I missed you so much I didn't even eat dinner." That did it.

He stopped, rolled off me, and went digging in the nightstand for his cigarettes. "Are you three?" he said. "You can't feed yourself?" I let my breath out. Missed you too much.

That was all it took. One year of marriage, and that trick had never failed once. A man who'd been through as many women as he had should have seen straight through me.

But I'd spent every day of it acting like I loved him. Three years of chasing him. Girlfriend after girlfriend after girlfriend, and I never once backed off.

Marlowe's verdict: I was the longestsurviving simp he'd ever met. I went back to sleep. He took the cigarette out to the balcony.

He was on the phone, and pieces of it drifted back in. "Hayes, you never come out anymore. What, you saving yourself for the wife?" Marlowe laughed once, short. "She's plain.

What makes her think a woman like that could ever be the reason I settle down?" "Honest?

The first time, I almost couldn't make myself kiss her." The guy on the other end howled. "Keep it down," Marlowe said. "It's the middle of the night.

People are asleep." I was almost under again when he came back in. He set a little box by my pillow. I pried my eyes open. Diamond earrings. They were beautiful.

They would have stayed beautiful, too, if I hadn't already seen the necklace from the same collection. Ten times the price. The earrings come free with it. I wasn't angry.

If anything, something in me sat up. One year. Since the wedding, Marlowe had behaved like a man who'd genuinely retired. Finally, he was cracking. So was I. I'm an honest woman.

I'm also shallow. Plain as a fence post myself, and I only want the beautiful ones. The thought of some ugly man on top of me, moving. I'd rather be dead.

I worked hard my whole life. Because I knew exactly what I was. No face, no family money, and no beautiful man was ever going to want me for free.

So I spent three years getting my hands on that face. And now that face was out on the balcony, telling somebody I wasn't worth it. Good. I'd been waiting a whole year to hear it.

Chapter 2 My grades in high school were decent. Not enough. Ivy League resumes come in stacks. A degree from a noname state school like mine goes in the shredder in round one.

A master's still wasn't enough, so I got a PhD.

With an honest, harmless face and total obedience to my advisor, I graduated near the top and walked into a federal research institute. That, I thought, was probably enough.

Then I saw Marlowe Hayes for the first time and understood I wasn't even close.

So I sat through my boss's work dinners, went back to the office afterward to finish my own work, and spent weekends writing his son's college application essays.

And I made deputy branch chief younger than anyone had a right to. That was when I had the standing to go after Marlowe. People kept setting me up the whole time I was chasing him.

I went to every one of those dinners. Every one of them made me want Marlowe more. After each date I'd go find him, just to rinse my eyes out. One night, two in the morning.

He was drunk and nobody at that party would leave it to drive him home. I got in my car without thinking twice. "You like me that much?" he asked.

There was a gorgeous woman passed out cold in the passenger seat of his convertible while he asked me that. One shoulder halfway out of her dress. I nodded. Hard. No hesitation.

Because I don't have a thing for ugly. "Marlowe," I said. "I love you." Everybody loves a pretty thing. That's what that saying is actually for.

If people only ever mean it about dressing themselves up cute, that's a waste of a perfectly good line. Whatever I look like, I love myself.

The confession came out of nowhere and he laughed. Wind pushed his hair off his face. Long eyes, heavy lashes. Ridiculous. I suspected work had been done. Didn't care.

He held a thin menthol between pink knuckles, and the ash shook loose onto the pavement while he laughed at me. "Melissa Ward.

You're the first person who's made me laugh in weeks." Right. Even my name is that ordinary. After that night he started throwing me scraps. Ten invitations used to get me nothing.

Now, in a good mood, he'd say yes to one or two. Sometimes he'd even do me the honor of eating the food I brought. In the end we ended up together. Not the movie version.

He wasn't moved by my devotion. He didn't reform for me. He was just tired of playing, and his family was breathing down his neck about settling down. I had the degrees.

I wasn't in his scene. Respectable job, good with a house. Every Hayes except Marlowe loved me. I didn't care why.

All I knew was that I'd never again wake up from that nightmare about an ugly husband and an ugly son. The day I posted us, I felt vindicated all the way down.

Proved every single person who'd called me delusional wrong. The wedding. Looking at that face, which honestly read like God's final draft, I flushed all the way to my ears.

Abs coming and going under a white shirt, taunting me. When the officiant told us to kiss, I "accidentally" planted my hand flat on his chest. A body like that.

If I ever got to tie it up… Pure, innocent girl that I am, my knees nearly gave out. Marlowe noticed nothing. After all. I'm an honest woman.

He kissed me like a man filling out a form. All technique, no interest. Fine by me. I can get there on my own. That night. I was so happy I could have come apart.

My heart was a sponge soaked full of spring water. I let out one long, satisfied sigh. The only flaw: Marlowe had no service ethic whatsoever. My pleasure did not factor in once.

Then again, I was probably the ugliest woman he'd ever slept with. Doesn't matter. Ugly is his problem. Getting off is mine. Besides. I wasn't going to need that face much longer.

Chapter 3 Outside, the streetlights burned like manmade stars, making up for everything we lost when we lost the sky. I looked at Marlowe asleep and my mouth curved up on its own.

Those heavy, hardedged brows. That straight nose. That beautiful thin mouth. Good God, he was pretty. Prettier than the men on magazine covers.

Aside from not loving me, he had no flaws. Nobody's perfect, though. As long as his face stayed intact, I'd love him. We honest women are just that loyal in love.

Except was it love, what I had for Marlowe? What is love, anyway. Freud said love comes from our longing for our own incompleteness.

Jung said the great soul is both male and female, and love at first sight is only ever falling for another version of yourself.

So maybe, back then, I fell for Marlowe because I was chasing a complete version of me. Well. I'm complete now. The next morning. He was still asleep when I woke up.

Messages kept dropping onto his screen, one after another, every avatar and username influencershaped. I didn't read them.

His battery was almost dead, so I very thoughtfully plugged it in. He'd need it tomorrow to line somebody up. Climbing over him, I got caught by the ankle. His eyes stayed shut.

He pulled, and I landed sitting on him. "Take care of it." Sleep still in his voice, low and rough. Absurd, how good it sounded.

A year ago I'd have been on him before he finished the sentence. Now. I peeled myself off him, apologetic. "Babe, the agency director's coming in today.

I can't be late." Marlowe's face said what he thought of that. Before I left, I made a point of telling him. "Babe, I'm away on a work trip for three days.

Take care of yourself." In case he hadn't heard me, I sent a text too. Still didn't feel safe. Because I remembered he'd muted my number a long time ago.

So I messaged one of his boys. [Away for three days, do me a favor and look after Marlowe for me, thanks :)] Looking after him is that crew's specialty. I got to the office on time.

That evening I stayed late. My boss even stopped by to be kind about it. "Ward, the trip got pushed anyway. No need to kill yourself over that packet.

Go home early." "I'll leave as soon as I finish this." Which is a thing people say. I clocked out at ten thirty. Ten thirty.

On the home security camera app, I watched a woman knock on my front door. Marlowe answered it in nothing but sweatpants. She played shy.

He looked her over twice, then stepped aside and let her in. My foot almost went through the floor of the car. No rush. No rush. The fire was barely lit. It needed time to burn.

Besides, Marlowe was never that fast. Eleven. I got to my own door with my hand shaking so badly I put the keypad code in wrong once. The place was a disaster. Lace underwear.

Shredded stockings. Nothing you'd want to look at. For an honest woman like me, it was almost more than I could bear.

Marlowe turned out to be much faster than I gave him credit for. The bedroom door flew open right in front of me.

A naked woman got herded out, still pleading with whoever was behind her. "Marlowe, I got on a plane for you. Don't throw me out this fast.

Whatever else you're into, we can—" Her bra came flying out and hit her in the chest. "Sent you money for the flight. Get out." Marlowe strolled out after it.

Chapter 4 She wasn't done. "If I'm not doing it for you, I've got a friend. Stunning. Let me show you a picture." "She's at a club two blocks over.

We could all go together, we could—" He lifted his eyelids, glanced at the photo, and didn't get a word out. Then he looked up. And saw me. Her voice died in her throat.

The whole apartment stopped making sound. She was still talking on her way out. "Sending you the address! Come soon!" Marlowe slammed the door on her.

Then he turned around. "How come you're back early? Did you eat? What do you want, I'll order something." Perfectly natural about it. Not one ounce of a man who'd just been caught.

He was talking a lot more than usual, though. I didn't answer him at all. He went for the cigarettes in the coffee table drawer.

And I remembered, out of nowhere, that Marlowe had loved one of his girlfriends once. She hated the smell. Told him straight out she wasn't breathing his smoke.

He quit for as long as she was around. Then she moved abroad for work, and the distance ended it, very peacefully. If they hadn't ended it, there'd have been no room for me at all.

After her, he never quit for anyone again. He certainly wasn't going to quit for me. I don't like breathing smoke either.

So every so often I'd gather up every cigarette in the house and throw them away. His hand came up empty. He raked it through his hair instead.

A few seconds later he hauled me into his chest and kissed me. I kept my eyes open. He had the face of a man walking bravely to his execution. I pushed him off.

His expression curdled. No woman had ever turned him down before.

Certainly not one as plain as me. "Who was that," I said. "You tell me." Something impatient moved through his eyes. "Melissa. Have I been spoiling you?" "You chased me.

You were the one who wouldn't quit until I said yes. You've known exactly what I am since day one, and you signed up for it. So what is this now?" A few tears came out of me.

My smile came out bitter. "I accepted that the man I chased dated other people. And broke up with them.

And dated more of them, and broke up with them too." "I never once said I'd accept a husband who cheats." The tears really came then.

Honestly, by that point in the performance, I'd almost convinced myself. His hand shook. Something moved across his face. Then, after a moment, he said it. "Is there a difference?

If you can't accept it, you can divorce me." He said the word divorce like it weighed nothing. Exactly the way he'd said the word breakup to every girlfriend before me.

He was certain I couldn't give him up. Certain I'd cry and cling and fight to keep him. Just like the rest of them. Probably worse than the rest of them.

There was a time I'd have believed that too. The streetlight outside had gone bad. It flickered on and off, more like a star than ever.

But at four or five in the morning those stars vanish all at once and snap you awake. Worse than Cinderella at midnight.

At least Cinderella was genuinely kind and genuinely beautiful. "Okay," I said, quietly. He blinked. Before he could catch up, I finished it. "Marlowe.

Let's get divorced." Everything drained out of his face. For a second I thought he might hit me. Then the rage turned into a laugh. "Melissa.

Look at you." "Don't come crawling back to me when you regret it. Panting after me like a lapdog." "I dumped you.

Remember that." Chapter 5 On his way out he had the phone up on speaker. "Send me the address again and I'll come." Club noise poured out of it.

Then her voice. "Hurry up, my girl's heard of you, she's obsessed with you too, the three of us could—" He left without looking back.

The door slammed in my face for the second time that night. Our wedding photo shook on the wall. A beautiful groom and a bride who, after enough retouching, passed for pretty.

Arms linked. Very sweet. The bride is looking at the groom with her whole heart in her eyes. The groom is looking at the camera, calm, faintly bored.

From any angle, they don't match. Good thing it ended here. I let out a long breath and every muscle in me finally let go. There was one more thing I'd lied to Marlowe about.

The work trip wasn't three days. It was three years. Outside the mediator's office