Chapter 8 Aiden
Aiden
“Mia, baby, talk to me,” I insist on the back porch where she’s standing in the cold, hugging her coat around her.
She looks small in that oversized wool coat, almost like a little girl playing dress-up.
My wife isn’t skinny, just compact. She has tight curves, a waist made for my hands, the kind of body that leans soft.
In heels, she comes up to my shoulder. At six-two, I’ve got a good eight inches on her.
She doesn’t usually wear heels, and without them, she’s the kind of woman who makes you want to lean down and listen when she whispers.
She looks at me with her slate gray eyes, which I’ve always found sexy, against her warm skin and dark hair.
There’s something stormy about them, unreadable when she wants them to be, and devastating when she doesn’t.
Her hair’s falling loose around her face, dark brown with just a hint of a wave, like it’s always caught the tail end of a breeze.
“What do you want to talk about?” she asks, leaning against the railing, her arms crossed.
I step closer. I lean down to kiss her lips, but she moves her head, and I get her cheek. My heart pounds. We’re not that couple. We’re not the ones who don’t touch, don’t make love, don’t….
Suddenly, the truth crashes around me.
We used to not be that couple, but we are now—we became that slowly and steadily since I took over Winter Financial. Or was it when Diana came back to Vermont?
No. No way. I’m not interested in Diana, not in that way.
But the lie I tell myself is flimsy. I may not be sexually attracted to Diana, but I do enjoy spending time with her—both at work and out of it. She understands the pressures I’m under and the stakes of what we do. I’ve come to rely on her, maybe too much, to help me succeed.
Mia is my life, though. I can’t imagine not having her at home to come back to.
Been traveling a lot lately, haven’t you, Aiden? Working late with Diana. Taking meetings that could’ve been calls. You haven’t exactly been rushing home to your wife, have you?
“You are not you,” I blurt out.
She raises both eyebrows.
“I mean…you’re behaving strangely.”
She frowns as if thinking hard about what I am saying. “Am I? How?”
I exhale, feeling frustration rise through me. I’m not used to the distance she’s put between us.
“You’re snapping at everyone.”
“Am I?”
There’s a subtle challenge in her voice, and it irritates me. “Look, I’m sorry I called you a bitch.”
She laughs. It’s not harsh. It’s not self-deprecatory as one would expect. No, it’s a full-on ‘this is so hilarious’ chortle.
She pats my shoulder. “Oh, Aiden, I never take offense when someone tells the truth.”
I swallow. I want to tell her about the kiss.
I want to tell her about the changes I intend to make and have already been making.
I’m going to stand by her. I’m going to defend her against my family more.
I’m going to stay the fuck away from Diana, if it has nothing to do with work.
I won’t let anything mess up our marriage.
I’m going to come home to my wife. I’m going to take care of her like she’s been taking care of me all these years.
She looks at me as if she’s waiting for me to tell her my truth, reveal the rot inside me, the horrible thing that I did.
“You’re not a bitch,” I say softly and cup her soft cheek.
The door to the porch opens.
“It’s gift time,” I hear Betty say in her irritating sing-song cheerleader voice from behind me. “You both can canoodle later on.”
There’s a snicker, and then I hear the door snick close.
“Want to canoodle?” I tease.
Her eyes go cold. “No. I want to do presents.”
I don’t know how to make her pliant because right now she’s unyielding in her stance. I’ve never seen her like this. I have no troubleshooting guide to help me.
But I know what I need to do. I need to appreciate her more. Show her that I’m grateful for all that she does.
“Thanks for buying gifts for everyone, Mia.”
She chuckles.
“What?” I ask.
She shrugs as she walks past me to go inside.
“What?” I ask again, helping her get her coat off.
“Doesn’t matter,” she says sweetly.
The living room is warm, and everyone is settled in their usual seats. The seating space is large and faces the enormous Christmas tree.
Mia and I sit where we usually do—on the edge chairs near the fireplace. Not uncomfortable, but noticeably set apart. No armrests. No back support unless you sit up perfectly straight. They’re meant for guests.
I glance around. Mom and Dad are on the sofa, and Diana is next to my mother. Betty and Tristan are on a love seat. Patrick and Gianna are on a matching couch across from my parents.
“Would you like me to move some armchairs, baby?” I ask Mia, not liking what I’ve just realized, that in the social pecking order of the Winter family, my wife and I are relegated to fucking overflow seats.
I’m the eldest. The CEO. The one keeping the Winter name on top of every quarterly report—and we’re being treated this way?
Mia turns to me with a radiant smile. The fakest one I’ve ever seen. “Why?”
I shake my head. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know why I’m seeing these things that I didn’t before.
Oh, yes, you do, Aiden Winter. It’s that kiss. It opened your eyes, so now you can see how your family treats your wife and you. And how you’ve been treating your wife.
“The gifts under the tree seem lighter this year,” Dad comments. He’s looking at us.
“What?” I ask, baffled. “Are we counting gifts now?”
Mom’s lips thin. “It’s just…well, Mia, maybe you forgot, but there are no gifts from you and Aiden for the family this year. Just the kids. And there’s one from you to him, and him to you.”
Mia didn’t buy presents for the family like she usually does?
I glance at her, and she’s wearing this serene, almost saintly expression. “You know, Edith,” she says sweetly, “I just realized that every Christmas, none of you get me anything, so—”
“We always have something under the tree for Aiden and you,” Mom snaps, cutting her off.
Fucking hell! Mia’s right. My parents never have a gift meant just for her. They do ‘couple’ gifts for us, but everyone else, including me, gets something personal—individually wrapped, individually chosen.
How the hell did I never see it before?
You haven’t been looking, you moron.
Because I don’t care about this shit.
But they do.
Mia does.
I think about the jewelry I have for her. Diamond teardrop earrings. I spent all of ten minutes getting them online. Shame courses through me. Mia makes such an effort for everyone, and none of us, me included, make much of an effort for her.
Well, that changes.
“Anyway.” Mia waves a hand. “Can’t change that now, can we. Aiden, I want you to open mine first.”
She walks over to the tree and comes back with a rather opulent-looking envelope—gold foil, red ribbon, thick and glossy as if it holds something important.
My heart sinks.
I recognize it.
I bought that envelope two years ago at an overpriced Christmas store downtown. I’d waited too long to order her gift—work had gotten crazy, markets were volatile, and I told myself I’d make it up to her. So, I scribbled a note, slid it inside, and wrote “Paris Trip.”
I meant it. But we never went.
You went to Paris with Diana, and you were there with her on your wedding anniversary, Aiden.
I take the envelope from her.
I glance around. Everyone’s watching. It’s tradition. Each person opens their gift, and we talk about it.
I pull the ribbon loose and the envelope falls open.
The world stops moving.
Divorce papers.
Neatly folded. Initialed. With dates. Legal language that cleaves into my chest like a blade.
“What the hell is this?” I can barely get the words out.
She smiles, stands up, calm and composed, like she didn’t just set a live grenade in the middle of the Winter Christmas.
My hand trembles as I flip through the pages.
Photos.
Fuck.
Ten of them. All of the same moment. Different filters.
The photos are of Diana and me. Kissing.
It’s a kaleidoscope of betrayal.
I look at Mia. “Baby, it didn’t mean a thing, you—”
“Oh, come on, Aiden, don’t be more of a cliché than you already are.” Her tone is sardonic, almost bored, like she was expecting this from me.
I can’t believe she did this, like this. Mia isn’t vindictive but….
“What did she give you?” Dad demands.
“Yes, son,” Mom urges.
They know something is wrong.
“I gave him divorce papers,” Mia announces.
“Mia, what the hell is wrong with you?” my mother snaps. “How dare you pull a stunt like this?”
My wife lets out a husky laugh.
“Edith, the stunt that started this ball rolling was pulled weeks ago by Aiden”—she lets her gaze drop on Diana—“and her.”
“What?” Diana stands up. “What do you mean?”
Mia plucks the photos from my hand. I let her. I’m too shocked to do much. I’m standing on ice that’s breaking. I’m already sinking into the cold water.
She tosses the stack of photos into the air like confetti. They scatter like snowflakes across the Persian rug.
Diana lets out a sharp gasp. “What the hell is this?”
Everyone gets their hands on a photo. There’s plenty to go around.
Whispers. Glares. My mother makes a strangled sound.
My father mutters, “What’s going on?”
My throat closes.
Diana, across the room, goes pale.
“This is terrible behavior, Mia.” Dad looks at the photo and flings it down on the ground.
“No, it’s not. And even if it is, I’m fine with how I’m behaving. It’s bothering you, which I don’t give two fucks about,” Mia intones calmly. “See the difference?”
“How dare you?” Dad is about to lose his shit, and I find myself standing between him and Mia.
She laughs—actually laughs. It’s not bitter. It’s not hysterical. It’s light, cold, and free. “Your son kissed another woman on Thanksgiving, and you’re talking about my behavior?”
“You ungrateful little—” my mother starts.
“Mom, don’t.” I hold up a hand to stop her from making this worse. “Mia, let’s talk about this.”
“Talking is so overrated, don’t you think?” Mia remarks carelessly. But I know her. She’s broken. I broke her. I know I did.
“You were the love of my life.” Her voice is shaky now, and I can feel her pain. “And you threw me away. I begged for your attention, your time, and your loyalty, and I got crumbs. I’m done being grateful for scraps.”