My eyes were open for a few moments as I tried to orientate to my surroundings, and my head was pounding. Where I was came to me all at once and I turned my head to look at the other side of the bed. Laying there was Clarissa.

I lifted the blankets carefully, and I saw she was completely naked with her back to me. Glancing at myself, I was in the same state of undress. Forcing my brain to try to grab images from the previous night only hurt my head. I remember dancing with Issy, as we all called her, and that was about it.

How we wound up here I couldn't guess. Issy grumbled into her pillow, and she began to stretch her arms and legs. Turning towards me, her eyes opened. She was beautiful even awakening from slumber, and the look on her face was priceless. Until it gave way to panic and horror, that is.

"Devon! What the..." she said astonished. "Why... How...?" She lifted the blanket and sheet, careful not to display any of her girl parts to me. Her face turned an awkward shade of crimson. "Oh, my God!" she half-screamed. Her hand reached under the sheet, and I watched her arm move around near her tummy. Pulling it back she studied her fingers, freaking out as she did.

"You had sex with me!" she accused rather than asking. "What the fuck, Devon?" that time she asked.

"I... I don't know," I said gently. She already looked like she might pop a vein in her eye. "I've been awake for just a few minutes, and I can't remember anything about last night. I've been trying. The last thing that I remember... we were dancing, then the music stopped and I went to get us both another drink. What do you remember?"

That slowed her roll and gave her something concrete to focus on. Finally, she answered. "I remember you handing me a drink and looking like you were going to pass out. I helped you out onto Tom's deck for some fresh air, and you were leaning on the railing. I took a few sips of my drink, and then you said you didn't feel very well, so I helped you back into the house and down the hallway. I..."

She stopped dead, in recognition. "Oh shit!" she exclaimed. "Shit, we're so dead. I've got to get to Peter before he hears it from one of his friends at the party. You need to do the same with Miri."

The Miri she was referring to, was Miriah, my wife of four years.

"Slow down, Issy," I said calmly. "What are you talking about? What do you remember?"

"You were in the bathroom for a long time, Devon," she told me. "When I knocked you came out stumbling and I led you... in here. That's the last memory I have. We need to get out of here. Find Tom or Mary and see if they know why we're in their spare room. What they think we did. We have to get to our spouses before someone else tells them."

She was getting more frantic by the second, thinking about damage control. We both got up and Issy used the attached bathroom first. I took a piss, rinsed my mouth out, and threw some water on my face and hair. Being presentable wasn't on my shortlist. I needed to find out who knew what and fast.

As I walked out into Tom's kitchen, he was still cleaning up, as Issy spoke softly with him. He glared at me, as our eyes met. Issy turned to me with a tear-soaked face.

"People... Mary knows," she said so sadly I barely heard her. My head sank as we all stood there.

"Mary found you two in bed," Tom broke the silence. "She pulled the blankets up over the two of you. I'm sure by now she's texted or called Miriah."

"Well," I said to neither of them, "Miri's plane lands at ten, so she'll be home by noon. I suppose I better get going and figure out how I'm going to deal with this."

I walked over to Issy, who was simply beside herself. "I'm so, so sorry, Issy," I told her, putting my hands on her shoulders. "I have no idea how this happened, but it's going to be okay. Peter loves you. He's not going to end your marriage over one drunken mistake." I decided not to mention what the state of my marriage might be by that evening.

Driving home, my mind wandered. I thought about my wife Miri, and our life together. A life that was definitely in question now.

Miriah Barney and I met in our junior year of college. Both of us had a literature class together but sat on opposite sides of the room. Although my mom and dad had skimped and saved for my education, They knew, like me, that I struggled with my studies mightily.

Dad suggested that I ask about tutors in the classes I was doing poorly in. My instructor in the literature class gave me two names. One was a geek that I occasionally made fun of in public, with my friends, and the other was Miriah.

Peter, Clarissa's husband, was a different story. I'd met him in our junior year of high school when his family moved to the area. We first met when he tried out for the basketball team. We were both point guards and had about the same level of skills. At first, he became a rival, until we both discovered that we liked hanging out together. Pete and I shared the guard duties over the next two years and helped our school make it to regionals in the playoffs.

Pete, though, ended up heading to the University of Michigan, while I attended Ohio State. Other than razzing each other during football season, we only saw each other on holiday breaks.

Miriah helped me get my grade in Lit up from a C minus to a B plus. She was going for a major in business marketing and a minor in advertising, and since my major was also advertising, we saw plenty of each other. She seemed a little shy from the onset, but she was also a bit stuck up. As we began going to dinners, movies, or events together, she began to open up with me.

Miri and I never had an 'exclusive' conversation. I just expected that we would be. One night, while out with some of the guys, I saw her sitting on the same side of a booth with a tall handsome guy I'd never seen before. I watched them from the shadows as they got up and danced to three or four songs, a couple of them slow. Miriah looked like she fit perfectly in his arms as they molded together.

I didn't call Miri for a week, and I avoided her in class. Finally, she caught up with me just outside the library.

"What's going on Devon?" she irritatingly asked. "You're not returning calls and avoiding me like the plague."

"I thought I should step back and let you explore with your new boyfriend," I snarled. "You guys seemed to already have the dancing part down pat."

I watched Miri's eyes flicker as she tried to comprehend. "You saw me at The Hub?" she asked. I nodded.

"I'm sorry," her expression changed. "I should have told you, but I didn't want to hurt you."

"Why?" I asked sarcastically. "We're not exclusive, right?"

Miri scowled and then frowned. It was abundantly clear she hated being bested with words - probably anything else, for that matter. There were more apologies. She looked and acted contrite, but I wasn't convinced. Then she suggested something more.

"How about if we agree to be exclusive right now?" she asked. "I'm willing if you are."

"What about the guy?" I wanted to challenge the obvious. "Isn't he going to be upset?"

"He's not important," Miri sighed deeply. "He'd been after me for a long time for a date. It's possible that he only did so because he knew you and I were a thing. His conversation centered around you more than me. When I made it clear that there wouldn't be anything other than dancing, he took me home early. I'll see him in one class until the semester ends, but I highly doubt he'll talk to me."

Miri and I talked late into the night about being together, about both of our views on monogamy, and fidelity. She agreed with my beliefs, she said. I wasn't convinced but decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. That's when we became serious about our relationship.

We dated for the rest of our time in college. I fell hard for her during that year-and-a-half. By graduation, we were talking about marriage. I finally found out what I'd been missing about her last name when she invited me home after graduation to meet her parents.

Milton Barney was a man of refined opulence. He came from old money - yes, that money. His wife Mary seemed a little mousy on the outside. She made it clear at dinner that she let her husband lead. However, in those eyes, there was a category five tornado. I'd bet money that in private, she wore the pants.

Miriah's Father dominated the conversation, asking about my youth, my college years, and my plans for the future. To say he was less than impressed by the time dessert was served would have been an understatement.

About the time I was ready to run for the gigantic front door, Miriah gave her mother a look and Mary graciously dragged me away from the conversation to give me the grand tour of the mansion.

Miri tried explaining away her father on our drive home. "He's just incessantly worried about his little girl, Devon," she said curtly. "Wait until we have a little girl and I'll bet you dote on her the same way."

"So, we're going to have kids, are we?" I asked playfully.

"Maybe," she coyly replied.

Six months later we were engaged. Well, the two of us were. I still had to go through the formality of okaying it with her ole' man. That night almost put an end to our romance.

We arrived at the Barney estate at six in the evening. Right after the 'hello's,' Milton asked me to join him in his study - alone. After handing me a scotch, he got right to the point.

"I understand you're here to ask for Miriah's hand," he stated flatly. I figured out almost immediately that this wasn't going to be a normal discussion between a father and future son-in-law. I also understood that Miri had set me up.

"Let me go on the record, Devon," he continued. "I'm not a big fan. I see before me a man devoid of ambition. You barely got through college and your vocational choice limits your ability to make real money. You're working in an ad agency doing copy work, and if you don't impress the hell out of someone there, you're going to end up working as an Uber driver while trying to put yourself through night school.

"I'm not insensitive," he kept on. "The younger generation today, I'll probably never understand. Instead of distracting myself, by playing video games, at your age, I was working two jobs while working on my Master's degree. Anyway, my daughter loves you, and she won't be deterred, so I have some stipulations for you."

"Stipulations?" I asked stupidly. The conversation was already surreal.

"Yes," he handed me some printed pages. "First, I'm offering you a job in the company's marketing department. That will allow you to do some meaningful work and keep my daughter in the style she's accustomed to. I suggest you take it because it's the best thing you'll get going forward.

"Second, I have a prenup here for you to look over," he handed me more papers. "Besides her current net worth, along with mine, Miriah has a trust that matures when she turns twenty-six. That's four years from now, and I don't want that money put to waste. Both of you should already be saving by then. Moreover, the agreement covers things like unexpected death, accidental loss of limbs or inability to perform as a husband, and then, of course, infidelity."

For some reason, that last word stuck out. "Infidelity?" I asked like a stupid kid. "As in cheating?"

"Well, yes," he said, looking confused. "That's what infidelity means."

"Does it go both ways?" I wanted to know. "Or is this just about me?"

Milton seemed a little unsettled suddenly. "Both ways, of course," he answered thoughtfully. "You should have an attorney look these over, for your protection and peace of mind. My legal team drew them up, so I'm comfortable."

Mr. Barney, Milt, as I'd later come to call him, made it clear he had nothing more to say to me. It was as though I was some sort of human leach, he needed to rip off his skin.

The drive home erupted before we even hit the end of the row of mansion road.

"Dammit, Miri," I screamed. "What the fuck was that?"

She sat looking out the passenger window, not needing me to spell it out for her.

"You totally blindsided me," I didn't let up. "How fucking disrespectful can a person be?"

"Come on, Devon," she snapped back, staring at me coldly. "Daddy's just trying to look out for our well-being. I love you, and he knows that. I got it far worse; you know? He spent hours trying to sell me on finding someone else, more in our financial sphere. It pisses me off, but I understand that he does it from a place of love - of caring - for his daughter."

Miri and I fought the rest of that night and in the days following. I stayed couped up in my apartment, and we did all of our arguing over the phone or text. Finally, she showed up on my doorstep looking beaten and frazzled. My heart opened to her, and we spent several hours talking through our problems with her parents.

The one major point neither of us could agree on was how to deal with their dislike - their disdain for me. Miri's answer was to soften them up over time. She expected that her father, especially, would begin to warm up to me. I didn't believe it for a minute, and I told her that. I also told her that she needed to prepare to cut them out of our lives for some time if the shit ever hit the fan. Without that commitment, I told her, I wouldn't sign the prenup and that would be the end of any future we planned, short of eloping.

Over the next several weeks, Miri did all she could to convince me that we would be all right and that she would stand by my side, regarding her parents. She proved that three weeks later when we went back to the mansion for dinner, and for the 'signing.'

Milton was reticent, offering me his apologies, and letting me know it was all in the spirit of seeing to his little girl's wellbeing. I shook his outstretched hand, but I wasn't nearly as persuaded as I acted. Milton didn't like me - plain and simple. The feeling was mutual.

I'd had an attorney - an old family friend of my deceased father look over the documents. He said it was fairly standard, but in that day and age would need constant revisions throughout the marriage to keep it binding.

"It's as good a deal as a married guy in your situation will get," he told me. "The ole' man really is looking out for his kid." He chuckled, "and that seventeen-million-dollar trust her grandparents left her."

I had to sit down as my knees became weak. "What?" I asked stupidly.

"You didn't read this?" he asked me back, shaking his head. "She didn't tell you?"

Just staring at him probably gave him my answer. "Her trust matures in four years when Miriah turns twenty-six. If I were you, that's the first year I'd update the prenup to include all newly passed laws. That protects both spouses."

Miri and I were married nine months later in an extravagant affair. Doves, ice carvings, Bon Jovi. Yeah, you heard right. Not a Bon Jovi cover band - THE Bon Jovi. My aging mother never looked at me more proudly than she did that day. Peter was my best man, and at some point in the festivities, he pulled me into a dark corner of the three-acre perfectly manicured backyard for a cigar and some friendly advice.

"Don't fuck this up," he said cutting my cigar and handing it to me before applying the torch. I never said the guy was highly intelligent, but I knew what he meant.

Six weeks after Miri and I returned from our honeymoon, I got a surprise from Peter. He'd met a woman at our reception, just a guest - not a relative - named Clarissa, and was moving back to town to see where things might lead. She turned out to be a friend of one of Miri's cousins who came along as a quasi-date.

The four of us spent many weekends, and quite a few vacations, during the next four years building our friendship. Miri liked Clarissa and they became as tight as Pete and me.

I can't say our marriage was perfect, or even great because it wasn't. Miriah as it turned out, was a product of her environment. She had a selfish streak. Worse, she exhibited more of her father's traits than her mom's. She could get very moody when she didn't get her way, and that wasn't even very often. Miri also used sex as an incentive or a punishment. I never did take Milton up on his job offer, and I could tell at times it bothered Miri. Many of our fights were based on the bank account or lack thereof.

To be fair, over the course of our marriage, lots of communication, always initiated by me quelled some of her negative aspects. I always waited for that cobra to strike again, but Miri seemed to be maturing. Still, I always wondered what might happen to us if the shit ever hit the fan.

My thoughts returned to the issue at hand. Peter couldn't attend the party due to an out-of-town training seminar. Miri found out at the last minute that one of her firm's top clients had demanded a meeting due to a botched marketing campaign, and a threat to take their business elsewhere. Both Peter and Miri had encouraged Issy and me to attend the party of our mutual friends instead of sitting at home.

And we had plenty of mutual friends and acquaintances at that party. The idea that Miri hadn't already been told what happened was stupid. Surely, Tom or Mary probably told them out of guilt.

Miri was due home around noon. I'd have a few hours to try to mount a defense, but there wasn't anything to defend. I hoped she'd have mercy on me and believe me when I exclaimed my undying love for her.

At noon I heard a car in the drive and decided to go out and help her with her luggage. When I got to the car, the driver had assembled all her stuff, and Miri started dragging her bags toward the house. The look on her face said it all - 'Don't you dare speak to me.'

In return, I gave her a very apologetic look, and left her to it, knowing there was no point when she was in that state. Miri was banging things around in the back of the house, putting her things away. I grabbed a beer and sat down at our kitchen table, waiting.

Somewhere I got lost in my thoughts and didn't hear her. "How could you?" she asked with equal parts sadness and venom.

"I don't know," I said, not able to look at her. "I'd never be able to accept it from you or anyone else, but the best I can come up with is that it just happened. I know this - I don't remember one bit of it. Who told you?"

"Not that it matters," she scolded, "but one of Tom's friends knows Peter well and sent him a pic of the two of you passed out in the guestroom bed. He forwarded it to me."

"I'm so sorry," I said sincerely. "I don't know how it happened or even what happened. I know Issy was devastated, just the same as me."

"Not devastated enough not to do it in the first place, though," her anger returned.

"I love you, Miri," I told her softly. "What can I do to prove that? To prove nothing like this will ever happen again."

She shrugged. "Right now, I'm too numb to answer that. I need time to think. Your being here isn't helping. You should leave for the night." She saw me about to interject and waved me off.

"I'm tired from my trip," she said. "I need to think, and I need a good night's sleep. I'm certainly not leaving. I'll call you tomorrow and tell you when and where we can get together to discuss our future."

Based on her stance and expression, I knew it would be a bad idea to argue about it. I stood up and went to the bedroom to pack an overnight bag. Upon reflection, I took enough clothes to last three days. On the way out the door, she wouldn't even look at me. "I love you, Miri," earned me no reply.

The Holiday Inn wasn't an extended stay, but it was cheap. I went to the gym and spent an hour working out since I'd forgotten my swimsuit. Twenty minutes later, I sat in the little sports bar across the street eating a fat burger. I wondered how Miri was going to go about things. Sure, I had the basics down, knowing her and living with her for four years helped with that. I wondered about the details.