Chapter 1

My first name is Rochelle, but my students call me ‘Madame Anderson’. I only teach French three days a week and occasionally substitute for the English department. My family is quite well off and we don’t need to work, but I enjoy helping young minds develop and blossom. My husband Gerald used to be a history professor and volunteers as an archivist at a museum to occupy his time. We’re fortunate enough to be semi-retired and only thirty-five.

He loves ships and the ocean but jokes that I get seasick looking at a fishbowl. It’s not far from the truth. I’m a good swimmer, but even going in the deep end of our backyard pool makes me a little uncomfortable. My husband likes when I wear skimpy bikinis, but one-piece swimsuits are more comfortable and I feel less vulnerable in them. I’m fine wearing sexy lingerie in the bedroom, though, and he adores the times I do.

I was confident he hadn’t cheated yet, but there were signs he was tempted. I often noticed him looking at other women. Most of them were younger and blonder women, often chesty college-aged bimbos. I thought my large breasts should be enough for him, but it seemed anybody younger with cleavage stole his attention.

I usually wanted to make love two or three nights a week, but we were down to twice a month, usually on a Tuesday night. He started bringing his tablet to the bathroom with him, probably to watch porn. I knew I had to do something when he bought an expensive new sportscar and started working out at a gym. We’d been married fifteen years, and I still loved him. I also knew our son Jonathan would be devastated if his father and I ever separated.

I figured that if I gave Gerald somebody pretty but underwhelming intellectually, he’d be satisfied in bed but still need me as a companion and partner. I planned to make a deal with him. Our handsome and muscular gardener Antonio had lost his wife recently. I’d noticed him glancing at my body while I lay by the pool and he worked in the back yard. If I could get private time with him occasionally, I’d be fine with my husband having some extra-marital fun too.

It was nearly eight on a Saturday evening. I sat at a table outside a restaurant, watching people walk by as I took small sips from a glass of red wine. When Chloe arrived twenty minutes late, she was dressed even more scantily than she typically was at school. I was disappointed to see her puffing on a cigarette as she approached. A few steps from me, she crushed it out with one of her dangerously high black heels.