““So . . .” Marc prompted.
“Worked! I’d only been gone for a couple of minutes, just like here.”
“Excellent,” the Ant said with a grudging nod of almost-but-not-quite approval. “Now we can—”
“And Sinclair’s been keeping ice and fruit in our room! He was sucking down a smoothie in our bed!”
“He defiled the champagne fridge to break a rule he made?”
“Right?” I cried, thrilled to be vindicated.
“Do you two mind?” the Ant asked. “Betsy, I’m sorry you caught your husband cheating on you with a blender; somehow you’ll have to find the strength to move on. Marc, stop encouraging her. Can’t you take any part of this seriously?”
“I am taking this seriously. Surely you noticed I was wearing my business shoes,” I said, pointing to my black patent loafers. Too late I remembered I was wearing my red knee-high gladiator sandals.
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