Page 77 of Insta Bride
I hated the gnawing in the pit of my stomach. Yes, we’d made up after the Kye’s words and actions outweighed the increasing evidence.
“Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.” Tash fuelled my insecurities and mistrust. Kye lived—no, we lived—close to Tash in Cronulla. I’d joined her gym and the days I couldn’t drag my ass out of bed, she’d come knocking on the door baring coffee and donuts.
“Not all the time.”
“Where is he?”
“He starts work just after seven. He needs to put in a couple of hours before he can go out and meet clients.”
“And last night?”
“What about last night?”
“Elena, there’s a pattern emerging. Even if you don’t see it.”
“What?” I needed the coffee more than the inquisition.
“Where was Kye last night?”
“Out with clients.” The response sounded fake and automatic, even to me.
“And the photos?”
“Taken out of context.”
“Oh, babe,” Tash sighed, hugging me while we studied the latest images tagged to Kye. The brunette was stunning. Black satin blouse and dark red skirt that showed more legs than should be legal. They were standing around a table eating tapas. Half a dozen empty glasses on the table were harder to ignore than the people standing behind them. Were others in the group? Was it really a work thing?
Or was history repeating?
“I don’t know what to believe.”
“Do you feel loved?”
“When we are together, the rest of the world doesn’t rate a mention. When I’m with Kye, he is locked solely on me.”
“Do you feel loved?”
“Isn’t that the charm of a cheater? He’s able to make every woman feel loved.” My ex had perfected that technique.
“Does Kye make you feel loved?”
He had on the island. He’d been the first to agree to the whole real wedding idea.
“I don’t know, anymore.”
“The four-month interviews are coming up.”
I needed to change the subject. Looking at the photos of my husband with other women got old, fast. Hearing his explanations—did nothing to make me trust him.
He’d had many women.
Blondes, brunettes, short, curvy. Kye only had one type—female with breasts.
Yes, we were married, but perhaps he’d blinded me with his kisses and abs. Perhaps, this had been a joke and the minute the experience ended, so would we. I mean, how could a marriage like ours survive? We’d been together in an abnormal situation for a month, and now married for another four months. We had a routine that worked.
“I know. We’ve got to come up with people who know us. Who are you putting up?”
“I don’t know, who are you?” Kye asked, topping up my glass without asking and waving over the waitress to get us a new bottle of sparkling water. He knew I preferred to go glass for glass. One of wine, one of water.