Free Monarch Beach by Anita Hughes

feeling like I was an actress on Days of Our Lives . I was certainly dressed for the part. Only daytime soap stars wore four-inch Manolos in the afternoon.
    “I told you when we got married: In France one stays married for life.”
    “Well, we’re not in France, and in America most wives expect their husbands to be faithful—there are a great number of wealthy divorce lawyers to prove it. I want you out of the house.” I sounded much firmer than I felt. My stomach did little flips and my underarms were sweating. But I sounded as calm as General Patton leading his troops.
    “I am not leaving our house. Think of what it would do to Max. They are only women, Amanda. You are making too much of this.”
    I almost fell off my heels. How could I have lived with a man for ten years who thought having serial affairs was unimportant?
    “Monogamy is in the marriage vows. I feel terrible for Max, too, but you should have thought of that before Bella.”
    “You know,” Andre said carefully, “this is not your house or my house. Your mother bought this house for Max. Maybe you should ask Max who should leave?”
    “Now you’re crazy.”
    “I am trying to keep our family together. Your mother bought this house in Max’s name. He owns the house, so I am not leaving, and I hope you don’t either. I love you, Amanda. Nothing has changed.”
    “Everything has changed!” I yelled and I took off my shoe and threw it across the room. It didn’t hit him, but it made an indentation in the wood floor where it landed, and it made Andre get up. I stopped with the one shoe—I didn’t want to be escorted to the police station and charged with assault.
    “I’m going to the restaurant to get the bread for dinner. Give you some time to calm down.” He slipped his shoes on and walked out the door.
    I sank down on the sofa. It smelled of Andre: cologne and fresh bread. I closed my eyes and cried.
    *   *   *
    I let myself cry for half an hour and then I walked over to the cabinet that constituted our bar and poured myself a brandy. I didn’t know how the brandy would react when it met the tequila still in my stomach, but I figured it would be hard to feel worse than I did. I gulped the brandy down quickly. It burned my throat but cleared my head. The first thing I had to do, I told myself sternly, was to stop crying. I had given Andre ten years of my life; I wasn’t going to waste another minute on him. Then I had to make a plan. Andre was right about the house; it was in Max’s name. I didn’t want to spend another night under the same roof as Andre, but for Max’s sake I would have to. I poured myself one more brandy for courage. Then I sat down and waited for Stephanie to bring Max home.
    *   *   *
    Stephanie and Max pulled up just as the two shots of brandy were beginning to make me feel a little fuzzy. Max ran up the steps and hugged me.
    “You smell funny again.” He wrinkled his nose. I had to stop drinking or they’d cart me away to Betty Ford.
    “Daddy and I were making a new dish,” I improvised again.
    “Is Daddy here?” Max’s face lit up.
    “He went to get the bread, he’ll be right back.”
    “Can we go to the restaurant? I want to see him and tell him about the turtle we found in Zoe’s yard.”
    “He’ll be home any minute. Go inside and change. I want to talk to Mrs. Chambers for a minute.”
    Stephanie was standing at the bottom of the steps, probably wondering if I was waiting for Andre with a shotgun or a carving knife.
    “You look good, but you do smell a little funny,” she said, walking up the steps and sitting down next to me.
    “Couple of shots of brandy for Dutch courage. Andre says he’s not leaving.”
    “Told you,” Stephanie replied.
    “That’s helpful.”
    “What are you going to do? Besides drink?” Stephanie asked.
    “I’m going to stop drinking tomorrow. I promise. He’s not worth it.”
    “Now you’re talking,” Stephanie replied.
    “Poor Max.” My lips