“That perfume,” I murmured. “It’s disgusting.”
For a moment, Ethan looked like a deer caught in headlights. Then he chuckled nervously. “Oh, that? The guys were fooling around earlier and invited the dancer over for a drink.”
He leaned in, his eyes steady, as if he was trying to convince me—or maybe himself. “I kept my distance, though. Didn’t want her getting too close. Heck, I even tipped her to keep things professional.”
His tone was so sincere that the old me might've believed him.
“That’s right, Claire,” one of his buddies chimed in, grinning like he was Ethan's biggest fan. “Your husband's a stand-up guy. Brings you along everywhere, doesn’t even give other women the time of day!”
“Yeah, Ethan’s a role model,” another friend chimed in. “Modern-day Prince Charming, seriously!”
I didn’t respond. Instead, I glanced over at the dancer. Her camisole was barely hanging on, and she looked just as embarrassed as I felt.
Someone in the group, quicker on their feet, cracked a joke to break the tension. He even slapped his cheek in mock shame, which earned some forced laughter from the others.
But no amount of joking could erase what I had seen—or what I knew.
CLAIRE'S POV