Contract Wife, Real Love

The video was only fifteen seconds long: a male burlesque dancer, all glitter and bravado, tearing off his pants.

My finger slipped, and the screen flashed: Video sent to Liam.

Panic seized me, cold and immediate. Liam, my workaholic, rarely-home, contract husband, recipient of my perfectly-crafted façade.

I fumbled for my phone, desperately typing a lie: "Oh my god, Liam, you will not believe where Ashley dragged me tonight. I am so disgusted."

His reply came instantly: "Okay." Just "Okay." No questions, no suspicion. He bought it. My easy escape was secure.