Mercifully, it was not as bad as she had been expecting—but then, Desdemona did not entirely trust that he was being completely honest with her. And why should she?

For two months (if not longer), he had been lying to her, squandering their limited income , staying out at all hours with who knew who doing God knew what; why should she believe he wasn’t trying to tell a believable lie to ease her well-founded worries?

She gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

“Regardless of your intentions,” she uttered softly, “regardless of the amount, it was still noticed, Arthur—still plastered in Witch Weekly for all and sundry to see, to read, to know our lives!” The words poured out of her louder and louder, tears streaming freely down her cheeks, until the last tore out of Desdemona in a loud sob.