The Perfect Husband's Secret novel Chapter 1

Chapter 1 

“Seriously? You’re worked up about him shaving?” my best friend Lucy let out an exasperated laugh. “Since when is that a crime?” 

“He never shaves at night,” I said quietly. 

“Oh come on, maybe he had a dinner meeting!” 

I shook my head firmly. 

“Lucy, you know Nathan. Home by seven, lights out by eleven – the man runs like clockwork. He hasn’t done a business dinner in 

years.” 

“Right, because he’s too busy being madly in love with you,” Lucy countered, her expression softening. “Emma, please tell me you’re not actually worried about this?” 

I caught myself and managed a small laugh. 

4 

“Of course not.” 

As if on cue, my phone lit up with Nathan’s call. 

“Sweetheart, Jenny mentioned you hardly touched your lunch. I’ve had Mark pick up some of your favorites from Bella’s Kitchen. Get some food in you, take a little walk before your nap – and hey, I grabbed us tickets to that new Broadway show you’ve been wanting to see.” 

His voice carried that gentle warmth he reserved just for me, like someone speaking to their most precious person in the world. 

Lucy was listening in, shaking her head in disbelief. 

God, if anyone at Pierce & Associates could hear their ice–cold CEO right now…” 

I couldn’t blame her amazement. The Nathan Pierce that everyone else knew was all sharp suits and sharper decisions, the ruthless Wall Street legend who’d built an empire before 

The Perfect Husband’s Secret 

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forty. Sure, people knew he was devoted to his wife but they had no idea just how deep 

that devotion ran. 

We’d been together for ten years, married for five, and this tender, attentive version of Nathan had always been mine alone. He could recite my coffee order in his sleep, knew exactly which designer’s new collection would catch my eye, could tell from a single text if I was having a rough day… 

Last summer, 1 stormed out after a fight about his overprotective streak. Spent the night at The Plaza. When I came home the next morning, I found him on our living room couch, still in yesterday’s suit, looking like he’d aged years overnight. The moment he saw me, he crossed the room in three strides and pulled me close, his voice breaking: “I’m so sorry, baby. Never again.” 

Then there was that weekend at the Hamptons last year. Our vacation villa caught fire while he was out grabbing my favorite ice cream. He tried to charge into the burning building – it took three security guards and the local firefighters to hold him back. Only when he heard me screaming his name from the pool house did he stop fighting them, his designer suit singed and smoking.