The Red Dress (The Affair Duet Book 2) Read online

  The Red Dress

  The Affair Duet, Book 2

  by Aidée Jaimes

  Copyright © 2018 by Aidée Jaimes

  All rights reserved

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  One more, just for me.

  Dear reader, The Red Dress is the second book and the conclusion of The Affair duet. It is not a standalone book, and will make no sense unless you have read the first book, The Ticket.

  This has been a very emotionally taxing, yet rewarding story to tell. It is my hope that I have written it true to life, and as many who have been in a relationship/marriage can attest to, things are rarely black and white, but every color in between. And as much as I would love for every story to be straight forward happily ever after, in reality that is not always the case. But everlasting love does exist, sometimes it just takes a few twists and turns to get there.

  With that said, I hope you connect with Cris’ story as much as I did. And without further ado, I give you the end…

  “If you invite the Devil in, he’ll probably fuck your wife.”

  -Owen Roberts

  CHAPTER 1

  What the hell am I doing here? Why did I ever agree to this? I wonder if I can just get up and walk away.

  I swallow down the reflux that has been ailing me for weeks now, pressing down on the pit of my stomach with stiff fingers, then wipe my palms on my jeans. The room is quiet but for the scratch of pen on paper, swift and hard as I am sure is the judgement going on that sheet.

  Owen takes my right hand in his and squeezes it gently, smiling tentatively when I look at him. “It’s going to be okay, Cris. This isn’t an inquisition.”

  “I know,” I say smiling, though I can’t say I fully believe him. Then, leaning towards him and eyeing the fifty-something year old woman not fifteen feet from us, I whisper, “Do we really have to do this?”

  The brunette must have super hearing because her head snaps up and she looks at me above rose gold readers. Dark blue eyes study me for a moment, then she goes back to writing intently on her pad, her mouth contorting strangely as she does.

  There is a loud screech as Owen adjusts his position on the black vinyl loveseat, and I unconsciously follow suit. Every sniffle, every creek sounds like it’s been set to high in this quiet room.

  Finally, after what seems like an hour of waiting, Dr. Gwendolyn Riker clears her throat, then removes her glasses and sets them on the pad she’s been writing on. I swear her eyes narrow as she looks at me. “I hope you don’t mind?” she indicates to a small recorder on her glass desk. “I like to record my sessions, as it’s much easier than writing everything. It allows me to go over the conversations later.”

  “Not at all,” Owen tells her readily. I simply offer her a tight smile.

  Pressing a button on the side of the gray box, she brings the mic to her mouth and begins. “We are here today with Owen and Cristiana Roberts, patients 769964. The date is January 20th. It will be an open and honest discussion on the events that happened within the last year, concerning marital affairs by both parties.” She sets the recorder on the desk.

  I cringe at her words. God, I really don’t want to be here, but Owen insists that we need help. Marriage counseling. Never in a million years would I have thought we’d do this. Yet here we are.

  Dr. Riker looks at me. “Cris, you look uncomfortable.”

  “I am,” I admit.

  “I assure you there is no need. You are in a safe place. Anything discussed here is for the benefit and honesty in your marriage. When we keep things inside and don’t discuss them in a respectful and open manner, we become resentful, angry.”

  “I’m not resentful or angry,” I tell her because at least in this moment, I think it’s true.

  It’s obvious she doesn’t believe me. She purses her lips and writes something down. Sitting a little higher, I desperately try to see what she’s writing, but the letters are too small to see from my distance. Plopping back, I give up trying.

  I can’t say why, because really I’ve just met her today, but I don’t trust her. Jess said to me that it was a reflection of my own issues when I told her yesterday we were coming and how badly I wanted to call the whole thing off.

  “I don’t have issues,” I’d told her. “That’s why I don’t want to go.”

  If I could have cancelled, I would have. But when I tried to talk to Owen about it, he seemed to really need this from me.

  “Why are you here?” Dr. Riker asks me.

  Shrugging, I say, “I guess so that you can tell us what’s wrong with our marriage?” I am trying to be funny, but I sort of believe it, too. Yet another reason not to be here, I think to myself.

  I’ve never met anyone that’s been to marriage counseling that didn’t end up in divorce. True, I’ve only ever met one couple that’s been to therapy, but that one couple called it quits after they’d discovered they’d simply “healed in different directions.” I believe those were their actual words.

  “My job is not to tell you what’s wrong with your marriage, Cris,” the counselor says. “I’m here to facilitate a conversation. To help with communication.”

  “Then I guess I’m here because Owen wants to be here.”

  “You do not agree to the open discussion?”

  “That’s not what I said. It’s that I don’t understand what we need to discuss.” Especially in front of a complete stranger.

  Dr. Riker looks at me with appraising eyes, and I hate that I can’t tell if they are hostile and judgmental, or simply studying my body language. “Owen has been coming to me for a few weeks now. We have discussed in depth what has happened between the two of you. With his permission, I can tell you that one of the concerns that has been a constant theme in our sessions is that of communication. Owen feels that there is a lack of it, starting with the affairs, your feelings then, feelings now.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know where the miscommunication would be. We discussed his affair and he knew exactly how I felt about it. There was never a question about that. It’s over now.”

  “Is it?” Owen asks and I look at him questioningly, then back to her.

  “Perhaps then, that is where the miscommunication lies. You are not on the same page when it comes to what has been laid out on the table. Owen can elaborate on what has brought him to seek help. Owen, will you look at Cris, take both her hands in yours, and tell her what your concerns are.”

  I turn back to Owen when he takes my hands. He swallows hard and I can tell he’s nervous. “Cris, for the past two months, no, scratch that. Since my affair, I feel that I’ve lost you. I mean, I know you’re here physically, but your mind… I don’t know where you are. And I know I screwed up, it’s all my fault. But I thought I’d redeemed myself, that I’d won my chance with you again. Instead, I feel that since you went to New Orleans, you never came back. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. What else can I…” he stops himself then as his voice breaks and he looks away.

  Even though I am at a loss for words, (Really, what can I say?) I try anyway. “Owen, I don’t know what you want me to do.” I look to Dr. Riker. “Is there something that I’m missing? I love Owen. Our sex life is great. We hardly fight. We have a great kid.”

  “But you’re not here,” he says to me. “I can’t explain it; I just know there is something missing.”

  “Why don’t you try? Say whatever comes to mind, even if you think it may not make sense to us,” the doctor instructs.

  Owen looks down to his lap. “Cris, there is some sort o
f disconnect. Yeah, we have a great sex life, if all you have to go by is the physical stuff. But you never say my name when we do.”

  I frown, completely unaware that I ever did.

  He continues. “And when you don’t think I’m looking, I can tell you are far away. Your mind is somewhere else, always. You never text me to ask how I am, which would be fine I suppose if you never had before. It’s like, after your affair, which was supposed to save us, I lost you more.”

  I take a deep breath and blink away the sudden burning in my eyes, but say nothing.

  “Cris, do you love your husband?” Dr. Riker asks.

  “Yes,” I say without hesitation. I do. I love him with every fiber of my being.

  She smiles. “Why don’t we start at the beginning. Break the ice a little. Tell me how you met.”

  That thought settles me a bit. I love our story, the way Owen and I came together. I always said that when I met the man I would marry, it needed to be different. No introduction by a friend or going on a blind date. It needed to be a lightning bolt sort of love, with lots of passion and fire. Sweet romance wasn’t going to cut it for me.

  When I face Owen, I can see the gleam in his beautiful green eyes that say he’s thinking the same thing.

  “I’m one of the lucky guys I guess,” he begins. “My boss was in town and I was supposed to meet with him for lunch on the other side of town, which was such a pain in the ass. I tried to change the location because I had a large deposit to make for Crawford Co. and that took me out of the way of my usual branch.

  “So on my way there I get rear ended. The whole time we took care of the insurance claim, I was concerned with the amount of money I had in the truck. So, I took a detour to the branch nearest the accident, not the one nearest the restaurant as I’d intended. And as soon as I walked in, I noticed her. Instantly. Any man would have.”

  As he speaks, I picture in my mind the events that took place that day sixteen years ago now. From my perspective, of course. It was magic. And I noticed him, too. Boy did I.

  CHAPTER 2

  He stood in line watching me. I did my best to hide the fact that I knew I was being assessed, appreciated even. Through my bangs I occasionally glanced at him, watching as he moved up the line. My customer chatted on about her cat’s tumor and her arthritis while I counted the cash in my hand, then filled in her deposit slip for her.

  “Thank you, hun. You know, my fingers just cain’t grip the pen like they used to. It slips, you see, and my numbers cain’t be discerned from my letters,” she told me.

  “Yes, Mrs. Phillips. You know I am happy to help you anytime.”

  Knowing his eyes were on me, I looked his way and moved my hair from my forehead, biting my lower lip as I lifted a brow. His eyes glued to my lips, I licked them and smiled.

  When his mouth opened slightly, his breath all but stopping, I knew I’d had the desired effect.

  Dear lord he was sexy. Dark brown hair, slightly wavy and tousled. Medium height with a broad back and well defined arms. His jeans hung off his lean waist, clinging on to his delicious booty.

  “Deary, are you listening?” Mrs. Phillips asked, bringing my attention back to her.

  I nodded my head and chuckled. “Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry, I thought someone was saying something to me from the office across the way.”

  As he got closer to the front of the line and his gaze became more and more intense, I hoped he still liked what he saw. My outfit wasn’t sexy, there was no way to do that with our dress code, but I felt pretty nonetheless. My white silk shirt, though demure with a high neckline, clung to my breasts enough that it showed their fullness. I’d lined my eyes to contrast against the light gold flecks of the iris, and pulled my hair into a long ponytail that curled at the end.

  Seth, our greeter, approached him and I could hear him ask, “What can we help you with today.”

  “I just need to make a deposit,” Owen responded.

  “All right, looks like Toby there just cleared up, please go to window three,” Seth indicated with his hand.

  “Actually, I want the girl in window five.” Seth’s head swung to Owen, eyes shocked. “I meant, I want her to help me!” he corrected.

  “I am sorry, sir, but it may be a while before she’s free. She’s closing her window for lunch once she’s done with this customer.”

  Owen straightened his legs, rooting himself to the spot. “Well, then I will wait here until she comes back.”

  “I am sure Toby will be able to meet whatever needs you have today.”

  Toby definitely could meet his banking needs; of that I was sure. But under the desk I crossed my fingers in hopes that he’d be sent my way. Maybe there were other needs I could meet better.

  “Look, I’m sure Toby there is great, but I really would like a chance to meet that girl. Now, can do you me a solid, bro, and just let me go now… Seth?” he said reading the young man’s nametag.

  Seth’s beady blue eyes became nothing more than slits, and I could tell he wasn’t going to help a sister out. Actually, by the red that crept up his face and met up with his red hair, I could tell he might do anything in his power to keep Owen away. Damn that boy and his crush on me! While I usually found it cute that Seth stared and went out of his way to please me or compliment me, at the moment he was anything but an obnoxious obstacle.

  His voice cracking, Seth said, “Sir, as I stated before, Cris is about to leave for lunch. If you truly feel that desperate to meet her, you may sit there in that area. When you see her at her window again, you may get back in line.”

  I looked down at the time. Sure enough it was my lunch hour. How that boy knew exactly when my breaks were, I would never figure out.

  Then Owen said, “No problem,” and went to sit with a stubborn plop.

  Well, this would be an interesting turn of events. Seth glared at Owen, and even from my position behind the counter I could feel the hate. Then, feeling a little wicked, I left for lunch without going to him, wondering if the handsome man would still be there waiting for me when I returned.

  He was. He’d waited over an hour. At some point, he fell asleep, because when I got back he was completely out, his head thrown back and his mouth agape. I giggled, but thought it was incredibly cute.

  I helped a lot of customers while he slept, all the while keeping an eye on him. When he finally startled awake, he jumped out of his seat so fast I thought he’d gotten pinched by something. Or someone, I thought as I looked over to where Seth stood, but then realized he was a little too far. Though who knows, I wouldn’t have put it past the kid.

  Owen looked at the long line ahead of him in disappointment, then with accusing eyes, walked past Seth and to the very end, about twenty people in. Figures he’d come on a Friday when everyone and their mother had just been paid and needed to make their last-minute deposits.

  We watched each other as he “rode the line,” as we liked to call it behind the counter. He seemed nervous, uncertain. His hands worked continuously from the leather bag he carried, to the button of his red polo. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, clearing his throat and shooting me shy smiles every time his eyes met mine.

  When he finally reached the front, Seth called him to window one, and dared him with the tone of his voice to argue. Much to my surprise he didn’t. Instead he grumbled something under his breath and complied, making his deposit in silence, then walked out of the branch without one last look at me.

  “Hey, I’ll be right back, that guy left his bag here,” I heard Rachel from window one say, and when I looked at her and saw her carrying the same bag Owen had held, I saw my opportunity.

  “Rach, wait up. Let me take it.”

  “Why?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Honestly, I want him.”

  “Good enough for me. He was a hottie.” She winked at me at threw the bag. After closing my window, and narrowly avoiding getting stopped by Seth, I ran out of the branch looking for the guy. I spotted him by a
truck with the same logo as his red shirt.

  “Fuck this!” he said as I narrowed the gap between us, unaware there was anyone within earshot.

  “Fuck what?” I asked and his head snapped around to me.

  He flashed me a slightly embarrassed, but oh so sexy smile as he rubbed the back of his neck and looked to his feet. “Um, sorry. I stubbed my toe.”

  “Oh?” I smiled back and opened my mouth slightly, darting out the tip of my tongue just a hint. My long lashes lowered as my gaze went to his feet, too, then back to his green eyes. “You forgot your receipt, Mr.?” I looked at the paper in my hand. “Crawford.”

  “Roberts. My name is Owen Roberts. Crawford is the company I work for.”

  “Ah, I see.”

  “And you are?”

  “M. Cristiana Garcia,” I said pointing at the name tag over my right breast, and his eyes followed. “Everyone calls me Cris.”

  “Pretty name.”

  “Thanks! All right, so here it is. Have a good weekend.” I began to walk away.

  “Cristiana?” he called after me. “Cris, I mean.”

  “Yes?” I turned back, wiping the grin off my face before he saw it.

  “I was wondering if I could take you out to dinner next week. I don’t know if you noticed, I sort of waited for you to come back from lunch.”

  I chuckled. “Yes, I noticed. I came to let you know I was back before I opened my window, but you were sleeping so soundly, I felt bad waking you. You looked too sweet.”

  He snickered at that. “Sweet! Not sexy or hot? Sweet?”

  Giggling, I said, “Anyway, I would love to have dinner, but I can’t next week. I’m going out of town to do some training in Miami. This is my last week here, got promoted to work at the headquarters.”

  “Congratulations. How long will you be gone?”

  “I leave Sunday. Training is two weeks long. So, I can do either tonight or when I get back.”