I Approved My Husband’s Wedding Leave to Marry His Assistant Chapter 02

I Approved My Husband’s Wedding Leave to Marry His Assistant Chapter 02

Claire lifted her hand again, and the diamond ring on her ring finger flashed under the lights.

“The ring was Michael’s design too. He said my name reminded him of something clear and bright, so he named this piece the Claire Bloom. Look at the petals. Aren’t they special?”

My coworkers broke into another round of admiration.

“Mr. Shaw is seriously thoughtful.”

“I know. A man that romantic is one in a million.”

I remembered telling Michael once that I wanted a one-of-a-kind ring too.

What had he said back then?

“We’re already married. What’s the point of all that showy, useless romantic crap?”

Claire’s cheeks flushed as she kept talking about how well Michael treated her.

“Michael is so busy with work, but he still remembers to bring me the strawberry tarts I love from that bakery. He always buys them fresh out of the oven.”

That bakery was downstairs from my apartment.

I had asked Michael countless times to pick some up on his way home from work.

He always snapped impatiently, “It’s so far out of the way. Do you know how annoying that is?”

From the office, our apartment and Claire’s place were in completely opposite directions.

He didn’t hate making the trip.

He hated making it for me.

“Michael said that once we’re married, he’ll hand the finances over to me. I’ll be in charge of all the household money.”

Meanwhile, three days after our wedding, Michael had taken over my paycheck.

He said a man had to manage the money if a marriage was going to stay stable.

I looked at the girl in front of me, lost in her happiness. The sweeter her words were, the tighter my chest felt.

“Lena, why aren’t you saying anything?” Claire finally noticed my silence.

I forced the corners of my mouth up into a smile.

“Mr. Shaw treats you so well. I’m sure you’ll be very happy together.”

“I hope you’re right.”

When I got home from work, Michael was in the kitchen wearing an apron. At the sound of the door, he poked his head out with a smile on his face.

“You’re home? Go wash your hands. Dinner’s almost ready.”

He carried out a plate of garlic-butter shrimp, the dish he apparently thought I loved.

“I made something you like today. Try it.”

I set down my bag, walked into the bathroom, and turned on the faucet.

The rush of water drowned out the sound of me fighting back nausea.

When I returned to the dining table, Michael had already set out dinner.

“How’s the job search going?” he asked, putting roasted vegetables on my plate.

He asked me that every day.

Before, it had sounded like concern.

Now, it sounded like surveillance.

I pushed the food around my plate. “I’m still looking. There’s no rush.”

“Right. No rush. Take your time. I can support you.”

I almost laughed.

Of course he could support me. After all, I only got a few hundred dollars a month to myself.

And the diamond bracelet on Claire’s wrist was something I couldn’t afford even if I saved every penny for two years.

Michael set down his fork.

“By the way, I need to tell you something.”

“The company is sending me to Miami for a business trip. I’ll probably be gone for about two weeks.”

I looked up.

“That long?”

“Yeah. There’s an important project there that I need to oversee.”

His lie was flawless.

“When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow.”

I nodded. “Have you packed everything? Do you want me to help?”

“No, I can do it myself.” He put a piece of shrimp on my plate. “Eat more. You’ve gotten so thin lately.”

The glossy shrimp landed on my plate, so wrong-looking it made my stomach twist.

I stared at it, and my stomach turned.

That was Claire’s favorite dish.

I was allergic to shellfish.

I put down my fork.

Michael’s brows drew together, and the gentle look on his face darkened.

“What’s wrong? You don’t like the food?”

I shook my head. “Maybe I’m just tired today.”

“Tired?” He scoffed. “You spend one day at work and come home saying you’re tired? I worked all day too, and I still came home to cook for you. Did you hear me complain?”

I looked at him and suddenly felt as if I were staring at a stranger.

Was this still the man I had loved?

The man who used to make me tea and bring me a heating pad when I had cramps, then carry me across flooded intersections on rainy days?

When had he become this person?

“Michael, when was the last time we actually talked?”