Chapter 10
“Come with me?”
Cecily
A hostess walks me toward the reserved table, and I thank her before she returns to the reception area.
When I turn and keep walking, I catch her gazing absently at her glass of water. Her fingers move in small circles along the rim, her brows drawn together, until she looks up and her expression softens with relief.
She stands and pulls me into a tight hug the moment I reach her. “I thought you weren’t coming,” Felicity says, her voice trembling.
I hug her back before letting go and taking my seat at the table.
“Sorry. My phone died, and I didn’t realize I’d forgotten the power bank. I couldn’t let you know I’d be late.”
She smiles, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m just really glad you came. That you said yes.”
The waiter arrives, and we order wine first while we decide what to eat.
“Sorry for being such an awful friend,” Felicity blurts out once the waiter leaves with our order.
I smile at her. She’s always been like this. Honest, unfiltered. When I got her call yesterday, inviting me to lunch, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief, and was genuinely happy she reached out.
“It’s okay,” I say, more gently. “Once things settled down a little, I figured it must’ve brought back some... bad memories for you.”
She takes a sip of her white wine. “It did—full force. Things were... tense at home for a few days, to put it mildly. I kind of lost it when Oliver told me what happened. For a moment, I thought he knew before you did, and helped Colin cover it up. Anyway, we needed to find our balance again.”
I notice how her fingers absentmindedly twist her wedding ring. “It happening with you and Colin, of all people... it made me question if it could ever happen to us again. Made me question choices I made long ago. Choices that shouldn’t bring doubt after all this time.”
I reach across the table and take her hand. “Do you... regret your choice?”
She turns her hand to squeeze mine back. “Sometimes,” she admits. “But it’s not regret. It’s just... the what ifs. I let them circle my mind for a bit. But then I look at our family, at everything we survived, and I know it was worth it.”
There’s a faraway look in her eyes and a soft smile that tells me she’s replaying good memories.
Then she looks back at me. “But I’m not saying you should do the same. That’s something only you can decide. Harper told me what happened the other day, and I told her to go to hell for being such a patronizing bitch.”
“Felicity!” I say, covering my mouth to muffle the laugh that slips out.
She shrugs. “What? It’s true. She can be too much sometimes. That’s why I only deal with her in small doses.”
We laugh, and for the first time in weeks, it’s real. It comes easily, like a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.
I say goodbye to Felicity and start walking toward a store she mentioned earlier, after I told her what I wanted to get for my mother’s gift. She couldn’t come with me, she had a meeting in a few hours.
Spending time with her was good. So good it almost made me forget, for a little while, that my world is falling apart.
After we, as Felicity put it, “got the heavy stuff out of the way,” the conversation drifted to lighter topics. Our work, our kids, and Christmas plans.
My parents are thinking about renting a cabin to spend the last days of the year.
My mother wanted to go to Montauk, but my father dismissed the idea, calling it too boring a place to ring in the new year.
She only watched him then, letting him pull her into an embrace, kiss her forehead, and begin suggesting other places.
Seeing my parents together hurts a little now. I used to believe Colin and I had a marriage like theirs, strong, safe, built on love and trust.
I haven’t given them an answer yet, because I need to talk to Colin. To figure out what we’re going to do about the kids now, during the holidays.
My chest tightens at the thought that this is how it’ll be from now on. No more holidays as a family. It’ll be the kids with him... or the kids with me.
“I’m telling you, man—it’s her. That’s his wife. Look it up. I’m sure. Same woman from that piece today and the USA Today column.”
A voice comes from somewhere close behind me and startles me. Before I can even process it, it calls out again.
“Hey! Cecily Montgomery!”
I spin around, caught off guard, just as a flash goes off.
“Told you it was her, man!”
"Any comment? Did you know what your husband was doing?"
For a moment, I can’t process the words. More questions follow, overlapping, but I don’t register any of them. My heart is pounding so fast it feels like the world is tilting, my body frozen, my mind blank, unable to understand what’s happening or how to stop it.
“Cecily!” The voice comes with a gentle touch on my arm. When I look up… I see him.
Alexander.
I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. The flashes keep going off, blinding and relentless.
He turns to the two men standing behind him—men I hadn’t even noticed before—and says, his tone firm, commanding, “Take care of this.”
The two of them immediately move toward the photographers, pulling the cameras from their hands. That’s all I see before Alexander looks back at me. His expression softens, his voice soft, almost soothing.
“Come with me?”
I nod.
We walk for a short while before stepping into the lobby of a building. He opens the elevator with a key card, and we ride up in silence. His hand rests lightly at the small of my back the whole time. I don’t know if it’s to steady me or to guide me.
When the elevator doors open, we step directly into what looks like the living room of a penthouse. Alexander guides me to a couch and, in a low voice, tells me he’ll get me some water.
When he returns, he hands me the glass, and I drink it all in one go.
“Would you like some more?” he asks, his voice holding that same soft tone, his amber eyes fixed on me, careful, almost searching.
I shake my head. “No, thank you.” I look away, unable to hold his gaze, and glance around instead. “Your apartment is beautiful.”
Alexander chuckles softly. “No need for politeness. I doubt you even noticed what color the couch is.”
He’s right. I glance down and see the fabric, white. “How did you know?” I ask, embarrassed.
He smiles, that gentle, warm smile of his. “I just do,” he says, meeting my eyes again. “After the way you were approached, I imagine the last thing on your mind was interior design.”
“I don’t even know what happened,” I admit. “Why were they taking pictures and shouting questions I couldn’t even understand? I’m not a celebrity or anything.”
“I think you were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time,” he says, his tone calm, threaded with concern. “There’s a pop singer living in the building, so paparazzi are always hanging around. They must’ve recognized you, from the article, or maybe your column.”
He pauses, then adds more gently, “You haven’t seen what was published earlier, have you?”
My brows knit tighter. “Seen what?”
Alexander stands, removes his jacket, and drapes it over the arm of the couch. He starts rolling up his sleeves, methodically, almost like it’s something he does to ground himself.
When he sits back down, he unlocks his phone, hesitates for a moment, then meets my eyes. “I hate that it has to be me showing you this,” he says, gentler now. “But it’s better you know, so you can protect yourself.”
He hands me the phone, and I notice a faint tremor in his fingers, as if, despite his calm, this is the last thing he wants to do.
I take it from him. And the moment I see the screen, the ground disappears beneath me.
My vision blurs.
From Boardrooms to Bedrooms:
When Late Nights at the Office Turned
Into a Forbidden Love Story
Meet Maya Fisher, the young woman who sent Montgomery Clifford & Co.'s powerful president, Colin Montgomery, spiraling into scandal, leaving behind his wife of nineteen years and their kids.
A massive photo of her and Colin, at what I recognize as the awards ceremony in Miami, dominates the top of the page. She looks effortlessly beautiful.
The article goes on to introduce Maya, outlining her academic and professional background before shifting to my marriage with Colin, and even mentioning our children.
There’s a small photo in that section, of me and Colin at one of the countless events we attended together. It’s an unflattering angle, of course.
Then come the so-called “sources.” People claiming to have seen them spending long hours behind closed doors in Colin’s office after everyone else had left.
Details follow. How, within a short time at the company, Maya was promoted to his executive assistant. How Colin supposedly couldn’t stand being away from her, proven by the fact that even on quick business trips, his assistant—and paramour—was always by his side.
There are also sources mentioning the divorce filing. But they list Colin as the plaintiff, and go into detail about how he’s already planning a new life with his new love.
At the end of the article, there’s another photo of them at the Miami awards ceremony. They’re standing side by side, and in it, Colin is looking at her, a smile on his face.
With every word I read, the nausea deepens. I read it again, just to be sure I didn’t miss anything.
At least our children are mentioned only briefly, limited to their ages and the fact that they’re the only ones we have.
I’m pulled out of the trance by a gentle touch on my shoulder. “Here.” Alexander extends a black mug toward me. “It’s passiflora tea. It’ll help you calm down a bit. My nonna always makes it in stressful moments.”
I hadn’t even noticed he’d gotten up while I was reading.
“Nonna?” I ask as I take the mug from him. “Thank you.”
“It means grandmother in Italian,” he says with a small smile, a touch of warmth softening his features. “My paternal grandmother always has a tea for every occasion.”