Like he could move on.

Whatever the hell that meant.

She wanted to shower. She wanted to shave her legs. She wanted to primp and prep and prime herself for Jack. But Shayla had another emergency, so Michelle was going to have less than thirty minutes to get ready for dinner once this appointment ended.

Shayla dropped her head into her hands, her shoulders shaking. “I don’t know if I can do it. He’s planning on it tonight. Expecting it. He told me he wants me to wear a red teddy.”

Michelle nodded sympathetically, as much over the red teddy request—she preferred a matching set of bra and panties to any sort of teddy contraption—as for the latest demand from Shayla’s straying husband.

“Are you going to?”

She shrugged helplessly. “He thinks that’s how we’re going to get our sexual mojo back,” Shayla said, disdain lacing her words. “As if it’s as simple as lingerie.”

“The simpler answer would be for him to remain faithful. You might find that more alluring.”

“Yes,” Shayla said, holding out her hands to emphasize the obviousness of that answer. “Yes. I would.”

“Perhaps he could even stop staring at other women as if he wants to undress them when you’re together,” Michelle added, reminding Shayla of something else she’d once told her about her husband that understandably bothered her.

“That too.”

“Or,” Michelle began, taking a pause, waiting to make sure that Shayla was completely focused. That she was hearing and listening. Because sooner or later, they were going to need to get to the heart of the matter. To the truth of Shayla’s feelings for her husband. Or rather, her lack of feelings. “Or perhaps it doesn’t matter what he does anymore.”

“Because he cheated? I mean, I don’t need a degree in psychology to know that,” Shayla said sharply, speaking in an admonishing tone for one of the first times to Michelle. It didn’t bother her. Sometimes, patients needed to lash out. She was a useful dartboard, and she willingly took the hits when needed.

“I’m not saying because he cheated,” she said, in a gentle but firm voice, keeping her focus fixed on Shayla’s brown eyes. They were sad, tinged with tears, and red with hurt. “I’m talking about how you felt long before he ever started straying.”

“I felt fine,” Shayla said quickly. Too quickly.

“Shayla.”

Her client crossed her arms, looking away, her sharp nose in profile now. Shayla was dressed to perfection today, as always—decked out in crisp linen pants, leather heels, and a pretty peach silk top. Michelle had started to understand that her clothes were part of her uniform. The everything-is-together look.

Michelle began again. “Were you ever in love with your husband?”

The answer was instantaneous, like a viper hissing. “Of course,” Shayla said, and Michelle swore she could see fumes.

The truth hurt though. The truth was like a wicked slap when you were least expecting it. But Shayla needed to start thinking hard about her heart, and whether she’d ever truly given it to that man. They’d talked about her lack of interest in sex, to how it stemmed from long ago. Michelle was willing to bet the house that Shayla had never truly felt any sort of spark for him.