18. Genevieve
Chapter eighteen
Genevieve
Ismoothed my hands down the front of the gown, gazing at myself in the mirror as my hair fluttered around my shoulders.
My reflection stared back at me in the mirror, unfamiliar and too calm for the chaos in my mind, resembling the kind of woman that could command a room without trying, step into any space and demand attention by just being there.
But I didn’t feel like her.
Not tonight.
I didn’t know why I was nervous. My stomach was tight, my nerves unsettled, as though my body understood something my mind hadn’t yet caught up to.
Because this wasn’t just a gala. I was expected to walk into a room full of businessmen, board members and investors…
on the arm of the very man I’d spent years trying to forget.
My eyes dropped to the dress again.
It fit too well. The neckline dipped just enough to make me feel exposed. The slit ran high enough up my thigh to make me question whether this was meant to be a statement or a punishment.
Probably both.
I turned away from the mirror. Gregory still wasn’t home. Reid didn’t tell me if he’d be attending the gala or where he was, though I doubted he would’ve told me.
I used to brush his absence off my shoulder at times, only mentioning it when I wanted him to be present for his son… but lately, I could feel myself searching for him more and more.
Was it because of Cheryl? The woman who all but turned up and stole his attention away from his soon-to-be wife and son?
Was it Reid? Him getting closer, his touch haunting me in even my dreams, pressing on my conscience that was trying to feel guilty for enjoying what he’d done to me? I didn’t know anymore.
I stepped out of my room slowly, padding down the hallway in my heels, careful not to let them click too loudly. The door to Eugene’s room was cracked open, and warm light spilled into the hallway.
I stopped in the frame, my heart clenching as I watched him tug at Reid’s tie as he sat beside him at the edge of the bed. Reid seemed somewhat amused as Eugene was moving towards being upside down, his lower half on the bed, the upper half hanging off.
“It’s time for bed, bud,” he said gently, voice low.
“Don’t wanna go to sleep,” Eugene mumbled. “Wanna watch Transformers.”
Reid chuckled under his breath, reaching out to tug the tie from Eugene’s hands. “You’ve watched it plenty today. Megatron is gonna have to wait.”
Eugene’s hand remained latched onto the fabric as he sighed. “I hate waiting,” he mumbled. “Always, always waiting. Waiting for Grandma at the doctors, waiting for Dad to come home, waiting for him to stop working, waiting, waiting, waiting.”
He didn’t sound angry, not even sad; it was just his little thoughts, the only truth he knew, the only tired, accepted truth a little boy could hold onto when disappointment started to feel normal.
Reid didn’t answer right away. He just stared at him, a conflicted look in his eyes, processing the words I’d never heard, words that made my heart clench.
“Tell you what…” Reid began, “if you go to bed now, that new comic book coming out this week that you’ve been talking about is as good as yours. I’ll even read it to you.”
Eugene huffed, weighing the proposal like it was life or death. It probably was considering he’d been obsessed with the pictures and stories and always needed someone to read it to him since he couldn’t.
“...Promise?” he asked at last, his eyes finally finding Reid’s.
Reid reached over, brushing a curl from his forehead. “Always.”
I swallowed hard.
He said it so easily, his voice so genuine and reassuring. Eugene’s gaze lingered, his hand still holding onto the tie as they stayed there for what was probably only about a few second, but God, it looked like hours.
I stayed in the doorway, heart caught in my throat as my son begrudgingly let go of the tie.
Recklessly, he slid his body off the bed head first. Reid’s foot caught his shoulder, slowly allowing him to descend safely, his face riddled with a million emotions as Eugene grabbed his emotional support toy car before jumping into bed.
Reid stood, pulling back the comforter as Eugene giggled, snuggling underneath it.
My foot creaked against the floorboards and I silently cursed as I hadn’t even realized a small tear had fallen from my face. I turned from the doorway before I could break entirely.
More tears slipped free before I had the chance to stop them, and I dabbed them away, careful not to smudge the makeup I’d applied with such precise, desperate care.
For a moment, I just stood there in the hallway.
Swallowing the lump in my throat and pretending it helped, I desperately tried to pull myself together.
But I felt his weighted stare before I even heard the door close.
I didn’t turn to meet his gaze, determined not to let him see me on the edge of it all. Ready to break.
He didn’t say anything. And then, I heard his footsteps cross the silence. His hand reached for mine.
It didn’t grab or yank as it found me. His fingers curled gently around mine like he was anchoring me. He wasn’t demanding anything. This time… he wasn’t trying to punish me.
I finally turned toward him, pulling my hand back from his burning touch that had lit a fire on the tips of my fingers.
“Sorry,” I whispered, my eyes cast down, hiding from his gaze, smoothing down the front of my dress like that would fix whatever had just unraveled in me. “I—I didn’t mean to take so long getting ready. The zipper kept catching and then my hair wasn’t cooperating—”
“Stop.”
I willed myself to look up at him. His eyes were dragged down my frame slowly like he was punishing himself just for looking. Like he couldn’t stop.
And then they snapped back up to mine.
“You look…” He didn’t finish right away, his jaw clenching. “Beautiful.”
The word landed in the pit of my stomach.
I should’ve said thank-you. Should’ve smiled, said something to ease whatever was building between us.
But I didn’t.
Because there was too much else there. Questions I didn’t want him to ask. Answers I wasn’t ready to give. And memories… so many memories, shoving their way to the surface.
I just stood there, burning alive in the silence. And then, like an opening door clicking shut, it was gone. I saw the shift in him before he took a step back, detached. Like nothing had happened and his words meant nothing.
It was subtle, but it was there… the sudden tension in his shoulders, the flicker in his gaze. Whatever he’d just let slip out had broken some rule he was trying to will himself to not cross.
Then without another word, he turned, walked past me down the hall. Back to business.
And I followed quietly. Because in that moment, after everything that had happened tonight, today, in the last three years… what else could I do?
The ride to the gala was silent.
His hand squeezed the steering wheel in a death grip. Mine sat in my lap, fingers clenched, still burning where he’d touched me.
He didn’t look at me once. I didn’t blame him. I couldn’t even bear to turn and look at him either.
But somehow I did. I told myself to make it brief. Just a glance, but as I looked over at him, it was more than that.
His suit was black, tailored perfectly, of course. The fabric clung to him like it was made to obey, every line crisp, every detail deliberate. His tie was black, same as the shirt beneath it. No color, no softness. Only sharp edges and control, just like him.
The soft glow of the dashboard kissed his jawline, highlighting the sharp cut of it. The slight shadow of stubble. The furrow between his brows he didn’t even try to smooth.
He looked every bit the man I tried not to remember… too composed and too dangerous all at once. So devastatingly handsome in his dark suit, making the tempting shadows of the night envious of him.
And beautiful in a way that made me feel like I was losing my mind.
I hated that he looked like that.
Like he hadn’t unraveled me hours before or held my hand in the dark and made me believe… just for a moment, that there was still something left of us worth holding onto.
I turned my gaze back to the window before I lost whatever grip I had left.
Because if I kept looking at him… if I let myself remember how he used to look at me, I wouldn’t survive tonight. Not like I wasn’t barely holding on as it was…
By the time the car slowed in front of the venue, tensions were still thick. The valet opened my door for me and I stepped out, my heels meeting pavement. Lights flashed in the distance, cameras clicked, wealthy and influential voices murmured toward the entrance.
And then Reid stepped beside me in one fluid motion. Straightening his jacket. Offering his arm like it meant nothing.
This was just another stunt.
But I knew better. Because when I took it, and he pulled me flush to his side, his hand settled on the small of my back like it belonged there. And the entire world watched as I walked into the lion’s den, on the arm of the man I should’ve never let get this close again.
Plucking a champagne glass from the waiter walking by, I took a sip.
People-watching was a pastime I would never get over.
Watching the way they interacted, the different levels of society that connected in complex ways humans decided was normal.
So many performances. So many masks. It should’ve felt superficial, but I knew first-hand what it felt like to put on a performance, to play a part.
For them, every conversation was a transaction and every smile held currency. Part of me simply wondered if they were growing tired of the act, feeling the weight of it sinking on them day after day, smiles getting harder and harder to hold in place. Because I was starting to.
“I hate these things.” The voice came from beside me, smooth and rich, with a hint of annoyance.
I turned to see a woman. She was beautiful, effortlessly so.
She had the aura of a woman who didn’t need to chase attention because it simply followed her.
Her dark hair was swept back into a curly updo.
She couldn’t have been more than a few years older than me. Even if she was, she looked immaculate.
She swirled the champagne in her glass, her head shaking. “It’s exhausting, isn’t it?” she asked, raising her champagne to her lips. “The pretending. The ass-kissing. The same men trying to out-charm each other while their poor wives sit on the sidelines, waiting with smiles for it to be over.”
I let out a quiet breath of laughter. “You get used to it.”
“That’s the worst part,” she replied, glancing out over the crowd. “My husband always drags me to these events only to disappear after giving his speeches or finding his flock of businessmen.”
“Sounding all too familiar. I didn’t exactly have a say in coming tonight if we’re being honest.”
“If I’m not mistaken, all the women in this ballroom are partially here against their will. And if they’re not here against their will… it’s probably because they’re in their partner’s will. “
I choked on a laugh. “God, that’s dark.”
“Dark,” she agreed smoothly, “but not entirely untrue.”
“…I’d much rather be home…” I said, half to myself. “These days, I’ve been so busy, and my son is starting to feel it.”
She smiled sadly, sympathy in her eyes, and it felt like in the moment, she knew exactly what I was feeling. The guilt. The push and pull between being everything for everyone and still feeling like not enough when you were trying enough as it was.
“How old?”
“He’s three.”
“I remember those days. I was so tethered to my baby… everything revolved around him. Enjoy him at this age. Mine must’ve hit puberty early because at seven, he’s already too much like his father, too decisive and stubborn already.
” She shook her head, and I smiled softly.
“It happens in the blink of an eye. One second, they’re attached at the hip.
The next, they start pulling away little by little.
Wanting to be their own person. It’s terrifying, really…
watching them stop needing you in the same way. ”
Her voice was calm, but there was a faint edge beneath it. A hollow ache. One I recognized well enough in the absence of Gregory in Eugene’s life and my increasingly busy schedule.
“I feel like I’m already losing time,” I confessed, swirling the champagne in my glass. “I used to be there for every bath, every bedtime. Nowadays… I’m just… slipping in between the cracks.”
“You’ll find your way through. Even if it takes time. They’ll love you even more because you still try.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. The wives to these billionaires and the mothers of their heirs have no choice but to be the glue to it all. God knows these men wouldn’t be able to do it without us.”
“Don’t let them hear you say that,” I said with a small laugh. “If they’re anything alike, their egos won’t tolerate it.”
She grinned, lifting her hand as if zipping her lips and tossing the invisible key.
And for a fleeting moment, I felt like I wasn’t the only woman in that room carrying too much.
She seemed to carry whatever weight she had on her shoulders better than I did, and I envied her in that moment because of it.
My smile lingered as I tilted my head. “I didn’t catch your name.” Holding my hand out to her, I continued, “I’m Genevieve.”
She looked at my hand for a moment before slipping hers into mine. Her grip was warm, her manicured hands soft but firm.
“Eleanor,” she said, then added with a faint, genuine smile, “Eleanor Russel.”