Chapter 1

On my wedding night, I lay under the covers in the new lace set I'd bought, shy and waiting.

But when the covers were pulled back, it was Sybilla Fox, my husband Terry Swanson's so-called one of the boys.

She burst out of the closet and threw herself at me, phone up and recording, laughing her head off.

"See that? Terry, you dog, you lose. It's lace, not cat ears."

"A bet's a bet. Your punishment is you only get to be with the boys tonight. No touching your soft, sweet little wife."

I shrieked and dodged the camera, but she pinched my chest and said,

"Don't be shy, sweetheart. It's just some wedding-night fun."

Terry stormed in, flushed with anger, and smacked her hard across the backside.

"Get off. Don't touch my wife."

Sybilla grinned and poked at Terry's belt.

"One look at you and I can tell you've got nothing. What do you even need a wife for?"

"Who's got nothing? You want to test that?"

Cursing under his breath, Terry hauled her up and threw her down onto the bed.

"I don't believe it. Next time I'm staying to watch. I'll even time you."

The two of them tangled and roughhoused, back and forth.

I called Terry's name, over and over, helpless. He ignored every one.

All I could do was pull my arms around myself and shrink down under the covers, mortified.

A few messages popped up in the group chat.

It was the video Sybilla had just posted.

"Sybilla won the bet! Terry, we're at the bar waiting for you!"

"Poor guy can't be with his wife tonight, but Sybilla's got a hot body too, so no real loss, huh?"

Terry let Sybilla hang off his neck and gave me a helpless little smile.

"Iris, there's nothing I can do. I've got to go be with the boys tonight. I won't be back."

I held back the tears and nodded.

If he wouldn't come back on our wedding night, then he didn't need to come back at all.

...

"You hear that, Terry, you little dog? Come with me."

"But you're not allowed in my soft, sweet Iris's bed, and you're not allowed to touch her."

Sybilla blinked at me.

"Fine, I'll go. But first you take down the video and delete it."

I pointed at the video and the photos of me in the group.

By now the video had set the chat on fire, and someone had started a poll.

"Which does Terry like better, Sybilla's body or Iris Henson's?"

A few of Terry's buddies were weighing in.

"Last time Sybilla lost a game and had to wear black stockings. Way hotter. Terry blushed the whole day."

"No wonder the guy stayed so calm at the lace set today. Turns out he's already seen it all!"

Sybilla gave the screen a lazy glance.

She laughed, completely unbothered.

"Oh please, it's way too late to take it back. Don't be mad, Iris. These idiots are just messing around."

"If you can't take it back, then disband the group."

Swallowing my anger, I reached for the phone.

But Terry grabbed my hand and explained under his breath.

"Come on, wife, don't throw a fit."

"You know how Sybilla is. Just treat her like one of the guys, there's nothing behind it. Don't be so sensitive."

I'd heard some version of that line more times than I could count.

In college, on my first date with Terry.

I closed my eyes and waited for my first kiss, and instead Sybilla rushed over and clamped a hand over my mouth.

"Nobody kisses my Iris!"

In the end Terry tackled her.

The two of them rolled into one heap on Lovers' Hill, and the campus forums crowned them the couple of the day.

Even today, at the wedding, Terry didn't walk me up the aisle on time.

The processional started, and as I stepped onto the flower-lined path, he was off bickering with Sybilla.

"Terry, you dog! Who said you get to snag a wife this easy!"

Sybilla clung tight to Terry's waist.

"Let go, don't stop me."

Terry told her to let go.

But he was smiling, indulgent, not a trace of impatience on his face.

Completely forgetting how humiliating it was for me to stand alone under the spotlight.

All these years, every time I wanted to get angry, "don't be so sensitive" pushed it right back down.

And in the end all I could do was sit with it and stew in silence.

While I was still lost in that thought, Terry draped his own suit jacket over Sybilla.

"Idiot, it's raining today. Don't you know you're cold?"

But a moment ago, when I stood there in that scrap of fabric,

exposed under the camera,

I tugged at his sleeve, again and again.

And it never once occurred to him to cover me with that jacket, to leave me a little dignity.

The door slammed shut, and Terry left one last line behind:

"Wife, don't throw out the lace lingerie. Tomorrow I'll make up the wedding night to you."

But the moment I turned around, I cut that outfit to shreds and dropped it in the trash.

The outfit, and him too. I didn't want either.