Chapter 18
First-name basis
Cecily
I check my watch again. Fifteen minutes until Alicia’s ballet class takes the stage, and my stomach tightens.
Where are you, Colin?
“Want me to tank some of his company’s stock? Might knock some sense into his head,” Mark says, his tone suspended somewhere between sarcasm and genuine consideration.
We’re standing in the reception area of the hall where Alicia’s school is performing. Ethan and my parents have already gone ahead. To give her a quick hug, let her know we’re here, and help steady her nerves.
Mine are coming undone instead.
I huff a laugh. “If you do that, he’ll just move into the office to make up for the losses.”
“Suit yourself.” He chuckles, but it fades almost immediately.
I send him inside to sit with the others. The moment I’m alone, the air feels tighter. My nerves coil, every second scraping against my skin. I glance at my watch again, eight minutes.
A tired sigh slips out as I head toward the auditorium, my heels clicking too loud down the corridor, each sound louder than it should be.
“Ceci.”
Relief rushes through me at the sound of his voice. I turn, my smile already in place. “You came.”
He pulls me into his arms, his breath warm against my ear. “Of course I came. I promised.”
I’m still smiling when something soft and unfamiliar cuts through the scent of his cologne.
Sweet. Feminine. Not mine.
My fingers curl into his jacket, drawing the fabric closer as my chest tightens.
“Colin…”
When he tries to pull back, I hold him there, my nose brushing his lapel. The unfamiliar sweetness stings, instant and unwelcome. My voice lowers, edged with something harder. “Whose perfume is this?”
He laughs, too quick, too light. “How should I know? I deal with a lot of people every day. Women included.”
“I didn’t realize corporate meetings required women to lean close enough to leave their perfume behind,” I say mildly, one brow lifting.
A crooked, almost amused smile curves his mouth. “You know how it is. Women can’t resist me.”
I don’t blink.
When he finally notices my expression, the smile slips. He cups my face, thumb brushing my cheek. “Come on. You know you’re the only one for me.” He kisses my forehead, then adds softly, “We can’t be late. They’re about to start.”
I let him take my hand, though my fingers feel rigid in his grasp. We walk toward our seats together, the hall warm and humming with anticipation.
And still, a hollow opens in my chest… an uneasy sense that something important has just brushed past me, unnoticed, and refused to be named.
It’s hard to believe it’s already been over two weeks since Alicia’s ballet recital. She was radiant, pure light on that stage, and the performance itself was flawless.
Yet throughout the celebratory dinner afterward, I barely tasted a thing. I kept watching Colin. Studying him. Waiting for something, any slip, any shadow crossing his face that would justify the unease gnawing at me from the inside.
Lately, I find myself doing this far too often.
Looking at him not as the man I’ve loved for nearly twenty years, but as if he’s become someone else entirely.
A stranger guarding secrets I can’t reach.
My eyes track the angle of his face when his phone lights up in his hand.
Linger on the distant glaze in his eyes when he thinks I’m not watching.
Once, I even considered calling Felicity. Phone in hand. Thumb hovering.
But what would I say?
So… there was a strange perfume on Colin’s clothes. When Oliver cheated on you years ago, did you notice anything like that? What other signs should I be watching for?
I couldn’t do it. It’s been years. She forgave Oliver. They rebuilt something solid. Dragging her back into that pain over nothing more than a suspicion of mine felt cruel.
I hang the gown I’ll wear tomorrow for the charity gala at the Waldorf Astoria and turn toward the bathroom, lifting the laundry hamper into my arms. Colin’s shirts sit rumpled on top, ordinary in every way…
Until my gaze catches on one detail.
A smear of red.
Lipstick.
I freeze.
Setting the rest of the clothes aside, I lift the white shirt closer. The stain smudges faintly beneath my thumb. Waxy, stubborn. The air in the bathroom thickens, my chest tightening as if something unseen has wrapped itself around my ribs.
Lipstick.
Red.
I sink onto the edge of the bathtub, my heart galloping wildly, as though it’s trying to escape my chest. I force myself to look again. Calmly. I trace the smear with my finger.
There’s no doubt. It’s lipstick.
My stomach drops with the weight of it.
Perfume and lipstick.
And neither of them is mine.
I lift the shirt higher, my eyes locked on the stain. What kind of kiss leaves a mark like this? His ear. The back of his neck. His throat.
Intimate. Intentional.
No one touches those places by accident… not with their lips, not under the guise of business. This can’t be softened into something innocent.
My thoughts begin to spiral, clawing at every possible scenario. My mind runs wild, replaying images I don’t want. Lips dragging across his skin, hands lingering too long. My stomach twists, bile rising, when the vibration in my pocket snaps me back to the present.
My phone.
A text.
From him.
I swallow hard and open it with trembling hands.
Colin: I’ll have to stay late. Don’t wait up for me. I love you.
Me: Okay, be safe.
I stare at the screen. At the words I typed without thinking—automatic, empty. I’m holding his shirt, stained with another woman’s lipstick, and that’s all I could manage?
Okay, be safe.
My chest heaves. How many times have I read messages like this? How many nights? How many months? How many years has he fed me the same lines?
And why didn’t I see it?
Maybe it’s just work. Colin has always buried himself in it, that’s who he is.
Who he’s always been. But my mind won’t stop circling back, replaying every night he came home late.
Every night he didn’t come home at all. The texts telling me not to wait up, that he was too tired, too worn out, that it wasn’t safe to drive.
I believed him. Every time.
No. I’m overthinking this. There has to be another explanation.
But then… Prom night. He missed it. No call. Not even a text.
At the hospital, he arrived hours late. And that perfume… was it the same one?
I can’t be sure anymore.
I press my palm to my forehead, trying to force the memory back, but all I see is Alicia’s tiny face. The IV. The fear that swallowed me whole. Back then, I wasn’t searching for betrayal. I never thought to.
The thought rises anyway, jarring and unwanted.
Colin wouldn’t cheat on me.
He loves me.
…Doesn’t he?
What if he’s cheating?
The question hits like a blow, stealing the air from my lungs. My hands shake so violently the phone nearly slips from my grasp.
No. There has to be another reason. Colin wouldn’t do this.
He couldn’t.
Could he?
My eyes fall back to his text.
The office.
Heat floods me. Rage, fear, disbelief, everything tangles into something unbearable.
If the truth is waiting anywhere, it’s there.
Montgomery Clifford & Co.
If Colin is hiding something from me, I’ll find out.
No more excuses. No more lies.
Not even the ones I’ve been telling myself.
Colin
I look at Ceci once more. The black dress she’s wearing tonight is modest and elegant from the front, but the back is almost entirely bare. A delicate expanse of skin that draws my attention without asking for it.
She’s exquisite. She always is. My hands stay firm on her waist, a silent claim for anyone watching.
“Another glass?” I murmur, leaning in until my lips almost graze her ear. She only shakes her head, lifting her half-full flute as if to remind me she’s fine. No words, just the smallest gesture before she turns back to Felicity.
She’s quieter than usual. She has been all evening. Even on the ride here, she seemed miles away, her gaze fixed on the passing lights.
Earlier, while we were getting ready for the evening, I slipped up behind her and kissed the soft curve of her neck.
Normally, she melts into me, but tonight she stayed still.
When I asked if she was all right, she gave me a quick, practiced smile, said she was just thinking about a new article, and brushed me off with a light kiss, careful not to smudge her lipstick.
I told myself not to push. Still, the way she’s holding herself now makes me wonder. Something feels different. Not wrong, exactly… but shifted.
"Come with me for a walk around the room? I see some people I’d like to speak with."
Ceci slips her arm through mine without a word. Still withdrawn. Still distant. I’m about to ask her again if she needs anything when a voice cuts through the hum of the ballroom.
"Cecily?"
Her head turns, and I catch the flicker in her eyes. Surprise first, then warmth. She smiles, real and unguarded. It’s the first genuine smile I’ve seen from her today, and the sight of it leaves me torn between relief and a sudden, disquieting confusion.
"Alexander?" she says, her voice light.
The man strides toward us and extends his hand.
When Ceci offers hers, he doesn't shake it—he bows slightly and brushes a kiss across her knuckles. It’s a classic move, and overly familiar.
I tighten my arm around her, pulling her closer, my hand spreading firm over her waist. His eyes drop to the gesture.
"Colin Montgomery. Ceci’s husband," I say, my tone even, though the underlying edge is there.
He clasps my hand. His grip is steady, no unnecessary force, none of the typical posturing men use to prove themselves. "Alexander Santoro," he replies, amusement glinting in his eyes.
The name clicks. "Santoro… as in the marble empire?"
"One and the same," he says with a trace of pride. Santoro Marmo. Italian, global leaders in extraction and design. Not a name you forget in my circles.