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Toast for breakfast. I ate slowly, thoughtfully, wondering what Christina was doing. Wondering what Lauren was doing. Tracing the steps back to when this duality began. I won’t be able to do this for long, I thought to myself. I switched on the TV as I finished eating. Some soap opera drivel. I marveled at how screenwriters can be so incredibly wrong when describing relationships. Then, suddenly, I kicked myself for not asking for Lauren’s phone number. She would certainly have done something for the boredom. I started thinking about the dream I had. My head began to buzz and ache as I remembered the bright light between the hospital and Lauren’s bedroom. I remembered feeling warm in Lauren’s arms. I didn’t want her to let go. I didn’t want to come home to Christina. Was that just in my dream? No, I had felt that way yesterday, after my act of infidelity. I scolded myself for thinking like that. Suddenly I got up and started pacing around the living room. The clock on our cable box. Our weekly trysts gone, my longing for Bess strengthened. We managed one more night together before the wedding and a few quickies after, but the danger pressed down on us and the risks increased.She worked in a nearby office in charge of spending the King's company's philanthropic funds. We crossed paths there, had frequent lunches with the King and spent time in the presence of two secretaries, Devi and my middle aged dowager and exceptional one--hired by the King and most likely untrustworthy as far as any indiscretions--discussing legal issues regarding the status of possible beneficiaries.During one of our private legal discussions, my hang dog expression flashing pain, anger and guilt must have been telling. I wondered why I didn't see Bess suffer more and that thought not only made me worry I had lost her but made me feel guilty about wishing her pain. "I hate it too, darling," whispered Bess perfectly understanding my emotional state. "I'm just a better actor. Be careful.".
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