Seven Days to Lose Your Husband

My wife, Camille Ashford, loved watching me get jealous. She said that every time I objected to another man getting too close to her, I proved how deeply I loved her. That was why she turned our wedding anniversary into the same game every year. Her closest male friend, Julian Cross, would take my place for several days, while their friends placed bets on how long I would tolerate it. The first year, Julian wore one of my tailored suits and posed for photographs beside Camille. I made him take it off in front of everyone. Camille followed me into the hall, kissed me, and smiled because my anger proved that I could not bear to lose her. The second year, she gave Julian our bedroom and sent me to sleep in the guest room. I demanded that he leave. Only then did she open the door and explain that he had been staying for one night as part of the game. Last year, she brought Julian to an Ashford family dinner, seated him in my place, and allowed her parents to treat him like their son-in-law. When I walked away, Camille followed and caught my arm. “It’s only a title. Why does it matter so much?” This year, they went further. Julian arrived at our home with a suitcase and a new set of keys. In front of all our friends, he announced that Camille had invited him to spend seven days experiencing life as her husband. Camille slipped an arm around his shoulders and watched me with familiar anticipation. “If Rowan really loves me, he’ll be jealous.” Everyone waited for me to lose my temper. They expected Camille to laugh, declare the game over, and reassure me that I was still the only man she wanted. This time, I returned to our bedroom and packed my belongings. Before leaving, I placed my wedding ring and house key in Camille’s palm. “Seven days is too short,” I told her. “He can have my place permanently.”