My Wife Thought Room 317 Was Her Secret… Until I W…

“You’re staring,” Emma said, a hint of nervousness in her voice. “Just appreciating the view,” I replied, forcing a smile. “Ready to go?”

At dinner, Emma charmed my colleagues as she always did.

She remembered details about their spouses, their children, their hobbies. She asked thoughtful questions, laughed at the right moments, and played the role of gracious wife so perfectly that no one at that table would have guessed anything was wrong. Meanwhile, I kept thinking about the photos Barry had sent me that afternoon.

Emma and Vincent, wrapped in a close embrace in the elevator of the Brown Palace Hotel, his hand possessively on her hip, her fingers in his hair. “Jonathan, are you with us?” My boss, Richard, was looking at me expectantly. “Sorry,” I said, snapping back to the present.

“Miles away.”

“I was asking about the Peterson account. Are they still wavering on that municipal bond package?”