Bed of Lies (ON HOLD)

XXIV

My breath is shallow. My pulse is racing. My head is on fire. The room is unbelievably hot. It feels like I'm breathing in fumes. Fiery flames. It's scorching the back of my throat, singeing the roof of my mouth. I'd previously found the warmth of the room comfortable, but now it's unbearable. I hate it. I hate the way sweat droplets are rolling down my pits like tyres running down a hill.

What I hate even more is the guilt gripping my heart. It shows no mercy. Not even when Walter retreats to settle back in his seat. I avoid his eyes as best as I can and focus on the spine of the first book that catches my eye. It's something about business or authority or both. I don't know. The words are swimming, dancing before me. They don't succeed in keeping my attention for long enough as I catch the secret smile Walter pastes on but lets slips off quickly enough by the time Tony strides in.

I wonder what this is to him. Is he enjoying my discomfort? Happy at the guilt eating at me? I'm not sure what his deal is or why he tried to do whatever it was that he was trying to do.

He almost kissed his best friend's wife, yet he's shown no hints of remorse nor regret. Somehow, I find myself pondering whether I should be pleased that he might find me attractive and does not regret making a move on me. I stop my stupid, senseless consideration when Tony steps into my view.

All thoughts of Walter float away.

Of course not. Walter could not compare to Tony. Whatever I groomed initially was a sham. Why should I be pleased by his attention? It is not something I need. I have Tony. I have my husband. Yet, you sat there and said nothing while Walter almost kissed you. My conscience pricks at me on the inside. What an idiot I'd been.

What if Walter gets the wrong idea that I like him or something? That would be a huge problem. I supply an answer myself, retracting my left hand as my diamond ring begins to weigh on my finger.

What is the meaning of this extreme guilt? I reason angrily. Nothing happened between Walter and me. And that's that. There's no need for me to wade through pools of guilt on my own. Why am I heaping burning coals on my head without a need to do so? Maybe Walter was not thinking of a kiss or anything of the sort. I might have just been over-imagining things. It could be that there was something in my hair that he wanted to pick out.

With my resolve made, I lift up my head to meet my guests. I probably should be thankful that they are both focused on each other instead of me, but I don't feel. I am a bit irked at them not paying me any mind. No, specifically at Tony not giving me any attention. His eyes are not on me. They don't even slip in my direction. I guess it's clear: I'm overstaying my welcome.

"I will be leaving now," I announce, plucking myself off my seat. "I believe we are done here, and I can see you both are very busy," I add the last part spitefully. It's all Tony's fault that I'm being this petty. With his gorgeous annoying self in that close-fitting grey suit, delectable muscles packing in spaces that they shouldn't be so visible in.

He's such a sight to behold, and he has not a single clue. Or maybe he has more than a clue. Maybe he knows what he does to me, and that's why he continues doing so without giving me a break to catch my breath. It shouldn't be that difficult to say hi to one's wife, should it?

"Stay if you both are not done talking," Tony says in a nonchalant tone, and I remember why I'm always mad at him. The man just does not ever try. No, really. He acts like he doesn't give a shit, and maybe he doesn't at all. Whatever the answer is, it's annoying. Overly annoying. Savannah was right about playing hard to get.

"No, not at all," I reply with a strained smile. "I most certainly would not want to intrude on your meeting." Even I sound fake to my own ears. Hopefully, Tony does not miss the overly obvious hint that I am irritated. "So, carry on!"