4. Adrian
Adrian
Iam standing beneath the shower when I remember that tomorrow is my wedding anniversary.
Not the party. Not the date my assistant blocked in my calendar three months ago because Saturday was more convenient for our guests. The actual day Elena married me.
Tomorrow.
The reminder came from Lawrence Bell as he was leaving. He clasped my shoulder, thanked me for the bourbon, and told me not to keep my wife waiting at dinner tomorrow night.
I asked him what dinner.
His face answered before he did.
Elena arranged a private table at Le Jardin, the restaurant where I proposed. Lawrence owns the building. She needed him to persuade the chef to open on a Sunday.
I have given speeches tonight about ten years of devotion, accepted a watch engraved with the date we met, and invited my wife upstairs with sex in my voice.
I did not know what tomorrow was.
Water slides down my face as I brace both hands against the marble wall. Shame is an emotion I have never handled well. My father used it as a weapon, so I learned to move first.
Explain. Correct. Attack.
The shower door opens.
Elena stands on the other side of the glass holding a perfume bottle.
Her hair falls over one shoulder. The silk of her dress follows every line of her body. Ten years, and the sight of her still produces an immediate response.
Her gaze drops before she can stop it.
Heat replaces some of the hurt in her eyes.
“You found me,” I say.
“I found this on my dressing table.”
“That is where perfume generally lives.”
“Mine lives on the mirrored tray.”
She removes the stopper. Her scent reaches through the steam. Orange blossom, dark vanilla, and the memory of our honeymoon.
“Someone used it.”
I shut off the water. “One of the housekeepers probably moved it.”
“It was warm.”
“Then someone moved it recently.”
The answer is logical. It is also the wrong one.
Elena’s mouth tightens. “Thank you, Adrian. I hadn’t managed to deduce that.”
I wrap a towel around my waist. “What are you asking me?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Then perhaps wait until you do.”
She turns away.
I catch her wrist before she reaches the door. Her pulse flutters beneath my thumb. “You came upstairs.”
“You asked me to.”
“You used to come because you wanted to.”
Her eyes lift to mine. “You used to know when I did.”
The words should stop me. Instead, I pull her against me.
For one second she resists. Then my mouth covers hers, and the perfume bottle lands on the counter. Her fingers slide into my wet hair. I press her against the vanity, fitting my hips between her thighs, and she makes the breathless sound that strips every civilized thought from my head.
This is familiar. This is ours.
My hand travels beneath the silk at her knee. Her nails bite into my shoulder. I kiss the corner of her mouth, then the place beneath her ear that makes her tremble.
“Ian,” she whispers.
The private name hits me harder than desire.
I stop with my lips against her throat.
Tomorrow.
The restaurant.
The anniversary I forgot.
My phone vibrates in the bedroom.
Elena goes still. “Are you expecting someone?”
“No.”
It vibrates again.
She eases me away and walks into the bedroom before I can decide whether stopping her would look worse. The screen glows on the nightstand.
CLAIRE: I’m sorry to bother you this late. Mrs. Vale’s car is confirmed for Le Jardin tomorrow at seven. Should I add you to the itinerary?
Elena reads it.
Her face changes so subtly another man might miss it. I see the exact moment she understands.
“You forgot.”
I reach for my trousers. “The party was tonight.”
“Our anniversary is tomorrow.”
“I know when our anniversary is.”
“Because Lawrence reminded you.”
I look at her. “Who told you that?”
“Lawrence’s wife. She thought you were pretending not to know about the dinner because it was a surprise.”
The towel falls as I pull on my trousers. I leave them unfastened, suddenly conscious of how naked I am while she stands fully dressed and looks at me like a stranger.
“It has been a long week.”
“It has been a long year.”
“Elena.”
“You bought me the same necklace you bought last year. You forgot our anniversary. Your mother spent the evening making comments about my family, my dress, and the fact that we don’t have children, and you didn’t stop her once.”
“I didn’t hear anything about children.”
“That’s the problem. You don’t hear anything that isn’t said directly to you.”
“If my mother insulted you, you should have told me.”
“I touched your wrist.”
The words land between us.
I remember her fingers against my skin. Give me a minute, sweetheart.
“I was speaking to my brother.”
“You are always speaking to someone.”
“We had forty guests downstairs. What did you expect me to do?”
“See me.”
Her voice breaks on the final word, and shame turns vicious inside me.
“Nothing I do is enough for you tonight.”
She stares at me. “Nothing?”
“The necklace cost more than most people earn in a year. The party was beautiful. I stood in front of everyone we know and told them I love you.”
“And I’m supposed to be grateful that none of it required you to know me.”
“You have become impossible to please.”
Silence follows.
It is different from the quiet downstairs. This one has an edge.
Elena looks toward the watch she gave me, resting beside my cuff links. “I spent years telling you what I needed. I asked you to come home. I planned weekends. I begged you to put down your phone in bed. Every time you made me feel unreasonable for wanting my husband.”
“I work.”
“So do I.”
“Planning parties is not the same as carrying a company.”
The instant I say it, I want it back.
She inhales slowly. “No. It’s carrying you.”
“Then stop.”
“I did.”
The simplicity of it frightens me more than if she had screamed.
“I stopped asking,” she says, “because asking made me feel pathetic.”
I should cross the room. I should apologize. Instead, I hear my mother’s voice telling me Elena no longer needs to work to keep me, and I hear my own accusing me of being the last man to realize his wife has already left.
“Maybe we have both been pretending this marriage still works.”
Elena flinches.
Not dramatically. Barely at all.
That makes it worse.
She turns before the tears gathered in her eyes can fall.
“Elena.”
She does not stop.
I follow her onto the landing, but she is already descending the stairs. At the bottom, Seraphina stands near the open terrace doors with her coat over one arm.
Elena passes her without speaking and disappears into the darkened library.
Seraphina watches the door close. Then she lifts her face toward me.
From the landing, in the low amber light, my wife’s twin looks almost exactly like the woman I have just driven away.