The Other Woman in His Life…is Mine

(Claire) By ten o’clock on Friday night, my feet were aching so badly that I was beginning to wonder whether standing for eight hours in heels was supposed to be recognized as a form of torture, because it was. The Laurent was packed, as it usually was on weekends. Every table had been occupied since 7pm, the bar was overflowing with people who had decided they could somehow squeeze into tiny spaces that did not exist, and the constant clinking of glasses had become so loud that I could barely hear myself think. I carried a tray of champagne through the crowded room, forcing a smile onto my face whenever someone looked my way. Working at The Laurent had taught me many things. How to smile when a customer snapped his fingers at me. How to remember various complicated drink orders without writing them down. How to pretend I had not heard a married man whisper something inappropriate in my ear because his wife was sitting three tables away. And, most importantly, how to recognize wealthy men who were used to getting whatever they wanted. The man sitting at table twelve was definitely one of them. I had noticed him almost an hour earlier. He had arrived alone shortly after nine. He was dressed in a dark suit that probably cost more than my monthly salary. Unlike the other businessmen who filled the restaurant, he wasn’t constantly checking his phone or talking loudly enough for the entire room to hear about their latest deal and acknowledge their millionaire status. He simply sat there quietly as he observed. His whiskey remained untouched for a long time, and every now and then he would look toward the entrance as if he were waiting for someone who had decided not to come. There was something lonely about him and that was what caught my attention, not his watch. Or the expensive car I’d seen through the restaurant windows when he arrived. Or even the fact that several women had already looked at him more than once. It was the loneliness and I understood that. “Claire.” I heard someone say from behind me. I turned to find Marcus, our floor manager, standing behind me with an irritated expression. “Table twelve needs another drink.” I glanced toward the man. “Again?” Marcus followed my line of sight and lowered his voice. “Apparently.” “He hasn’t finished the one he has.” I whined. “Then he’ll have two.” Marcus replied, dismissing me. I rolled my eyes, took the bottle from the service station and walked toward his table. “Excuse me, sir. Would you like another whiskey?” I asked, my chest pounding softly. His attention moved from the window to me and the first thing I noticed was that his eyes were darker than i had expected. They were not black, but a deep brown color that looked almost golden beneath the warm restaurant lights. “Yes, please.” He replied in a voice that made my chest pound harder. I reached for his glass. “Same?” “Same.” He replied with a half smile. I poured the whiskey, placed the bottle back on the table and prepared to leave. “You’re new.” He stated as a matter of fact. I looked at him. “Is it that obvious?” “To me.” “Then you must be very observant.” I replied. One corner of his mouth lifted. “Occupational hazard.” “What occupation is that?” I asked, genuinely intrigued. His gaze lingered on me for a moment before he answered. “Business.” I smiled faintly. “That explains nothing.” “Perhaps I’m not trying to explain.” He said softly. I couldn’t help laughing. It was quiet, but he heard it. Something changed in his expression and the first time that evening, he looked genuinely interested. “What’s your name?” I hesitated. There was nothing unusual about a customer asking my name. It happened all the time. Still, something about the question made me cautious. “Claire.” I said with a smile as I was trying to be nice. “Claire?” He asked as though he was testing the way my name sounded on his lips. I nodded. “Claire Bennett.” He repeated my name slowly, almost absentmindedly. “Claire Bennett.” I wondered why the way he said it made me feel as though I had just told him something far more personal. “And yours?” I asked still keeping up the friendly appearance. “Daniel.” I waited and he smiled. “Just Daniel?” I asked. “For tonight.” I laughed again. “You’re strange.” “So I’ve been told.” I walked away before the conversation could become something more. Or at least, before I could convince myself it was becoming something more. For the rest of the night, I tried not to look toward table twelve but I failed several times. Daniel was still alone when the restaurant began to empty. At eleven-thirty, the couple at table six left. At midnight, the birthday party near the bar finally disappeared. By twelve-thirty, there were only a handful of customers remaining. Daniel was still there. I found myself wondering why. At one in the morning, Marcus came over and told me I could go home. I slipped off my apron, grabbed my bag and headed toward the staff entrance. When I stepped outside, I stopped. Daniel was standing beside a black Mercedes parked near the curb. I stared at him and he noticed. “Don’t look so surprised.” “I am surprised.” I replied truthfully. “Why?” “Because I thought you left half an hour ago.” “I was waiting.” He replied as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “For what?” His eyes settled on me. “You.” I let out a nervous laugh. “That’s not a very good idea.” “Probably not.” He said it so calmly that I didn’t know whether to be amused or annoyed. I tightened my grip around my handbag. “You’re married.” His expression changed slightly but I noticed. My eyes dropped to his left hand as the ring was impossible to miss now. He followed my gaze. “I am.” “Then you shouldn’t be waiting outside my workplace.” “I know.” He said simply. “Then why are you?” I asked again. He was quiet for several seconds. Finally, he said, “Because I wanted to see you.” I should have walked away. Instead, I stood there beneath the awning while rain fell steadily onto the pavement. “You don’t even know me.” “I know enough.” “You know my name.” “I know you work too hard. I know you pretend not to be tired when you are. I know you smile at customers you dislike because you need the tips. And I know you’ve looked at me at least twelve times tonight.” My cheeks warmed. “I have not.” “You have.” He argued with a smirk which was doing something to my lower belly. “You’re very confident.” I said to him. “I pay attention.” There was something disarming about him. He wasn’t flirting aggressively or trying touch me. He wasn’t making promises. He was simply standing there, looking at me as though I was the most interesting person he had encountered all evening. And perhaps that was what made me lower my guard. “How long have you been married?” I asked. “Nine years.” I nodded slowly. “Happy?” His eyes moved away from mine. “No.” The answer came without hesitation. I didn’t know what to say to that. Most married men who approached younger women had the same story. Their wives didn’t understand them. Their marriages were unhappy. They slept in separate rooms. Divorce was complicated. I had heard enough of those stories to know better than to believe them. So I gave him a small smile. “That’s what they all say.” His gaze returned to mine. “I didn’t say it because I want something from you.” “Then why did you say it?” I asked trying to see what he would come up with. “Because you asked.” He replied simply. There was no clever answer to that. A taxi pulled up behind me and I reached for the door. “Goodnight, Daniel.” I greeted. “Claire.” I turned. “Yes?” “If I asked you to have dinner with me tomorrow, would you say no?” I should have but instead I said, “You’re married.” “I know.” “And I’m not interested in being someone’s secret.” Something unreadable crossed his face. “Neither am I.” The taxi driver glanced impatiently at me through the window. I stepped inside and as the car pulled away, I looked through the glass. Daniel was still standing there, watching me leave. I told myself that would be the end of it but it wasn’t. The next evening, he came back. He was sitting at table twelve when I arrived for my shift. I tried not to smile but he noticed anyway. “You came back.” I said to him in a surprised tone. “Apparently.” He replied. “Why?” I asked. He shrugged. “Maybe I like the food.” “The food isn’t that good.” “Then perhaps it’s the company.” I shook my head, but I was smiling. That was how it started with Daniel. Not with a kiss. Not with some dramatic declaration of love. Just small conversations between orders. He learned that I was finishing a business degree at night. I learned that he had built his company from almost nothing and that his father had died when he was twenty-two. He told me he hated crowded parties and preferred quiet restaurants. I told him I hated mornings and had never successfully kept a plant alive. He made me laugh. I had not realized how long it had been since someone had done that. Over the next few weeks, Daniel became part of my routine. He came to The Laurent almost every Friday. Sometimes Saturday. Sometimes on a random Tuesday evening when he claimed he happened to be nearby. He always sat at table twelve. He always ordered the same whiskey and he always waited until the restaurant was quiet before talking to me. I never asked about his wife. He never volunteered much but I knew she existed. Her presence was always there, even when she wasn’t. The ring on his finger. The occasional interruption from his phone. The way his expression changed whenever someone mentioned family. Then one night, after closing, he drove me home. We sat outside my apartment building while rain tapped softly against the windshield. “I should go,” I said. Daniel didn’t move. “Claire.” I turned toward him. “I need to tell you something.” My stomach tightened. “What?” “My marriage isn’t what you think.” I almost laughed. “Daniel, I don’t think anything about your marriage.” “You think I’m happily married.” “I think you’re married.” “And you think that means I shouldn’t be sitting here with you.” “It does.” He looked down at his hands and then he removed his wedding ring. For some reason, that simple movement made my chest tighten. “I haven’t loved my wife in years.” I stared at the ring resting in his palm. “Then why are you still married?” His jaw tightened. “Because leaving isn’t as simple as people think.” “That’s convenient.” I replied rolling my eyes. He looked at me. “I’m not asking you to wait for me.” “Good.” I replied because I wasn’t going to do that. “I’m asking you to believe me.” I looked away as I didn’t want to believe him, that was the truth. But I wanted to and there was a difference. “Daniel…” He reached across the console and took my hand. His thumb moved slowly over my knuckles. “I don’t want you to be a secret.” My heart began beating faster. “Then what do you want?” He looked at me for a long moment. “You.” The word was quiet and simple, but it stayed with me long after I left the car. I spent the entire night telling myself I wouldn’t see him again. By morning, I knew I was lying to myself because when my phone lit up at 8:17 a.m., I didn’t need to check the name. I already knew who it was. Daniel: Dinner tonight? I stared at the message and then another appeared. Daniel: I want to talk to you about my marriage. I should have deleted it. Instead, I typed: Okay. That one word changed everything. Three months later, I was lying beside him in a hotel room, listening to his heartbeat beneath my cheek. He was asleep but I wasn’t. My fingers traced the edge of his shirt while I stared at the ceiling. “You’re going to leave her, aren’t you?” I whispered. Daniel opened his eyes. “I told you I would.” “When?” I asked. It was the same question I had been asking. “Soon.” He replied again as usual. Same reply. “You’ve been saying soon for three months.” He sighed and pulled me closer. “I need more time.” I swallowed the disappointment rising in my throat. “How much?” He kissed my forehead. “Not much.” I closed my eyes. I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to but then his phone began vibrating on the bedside table. Once. Twice. Three times. Daniel reached for it and the screen lit up before he could turn it over. Victoria. His wife. He stared at the name and then another message appeared beneath it. His entire expression changed. “What is it?” I asked. He didn’t answer. “Daniel?” I called again as I began to worry. He opened the message and his face went completely pale. I sat up. “What happened?” He looked at me. For the first time since I’d met him, I saw fear in his eyes. “What did she say?” I whispered. Daniel slowly turned the phone toward me. There was only one sentence on the screen. I know about Claire. We need to talk before she does something neither of us can undo. I stared at the message as my blood ran cold. “Who is she talking about?” I asked in panic. Daniel didn’t answer but then his phone rang and it was Victoria again. He picked it up. “Hello?” He listened and his face became harder with every passing second. Finally, he said, “Where are you?” He fell silent and then his eyes lifted to mine. “You’re outside?” I froze immediately as Daniel stood abruptly. “What?” He moved toward the curtains and pulled them open. I followed his gaze. Three floors below, under the hotel entrance, a black car was parked at the front. A woman stood beside it. She was beautiful, elegant and completely still. Her face was Even from this distance, I could see the wedding ring on her hand. Daniel’s wife……..Victoria Harrington and she was looking directly up at our window.