15. Lucille #2
This is happening. This is actually happening.
Alice appears periodically to refill my champagne and remind me to eat from the carefully arranged appetizer trays.
Hugo stays in the background, never pushing forward, never trying to insert himself into my moment.
I see him talking to my mother’s old friend who came down from Sacramento, see him shaking hands with industry people who clearly want to talk about his career instead of mine, see him deflecting every conversation back toward me with a grace I didn’t know he possessed.
He’s being my support without being my center.
He’s letting me shine.
“You did it,” Alice says during a rare moment of quiet, both of us tucked into a corner with fresh glasses of champagne. “You actually did it, Lu.”
“I did it.” The words feel strange in my mouth, too big to be real. “I can’t believe I did it.”
“Believe it. You’re going to be getting calls for weeks. Sandra’s practically ready to give you a blank check. And did you see the woman from Nordstrom? She was taking notes the entire show.”
I laugh, giddy and exhausted.
“Where’s Hugo?”
“He slipped out about twenty minutes ago. Said he didn’t want to overshadow your night.” Alice studies my face. “He was crying, you know. During the show. I saw him.”
“I know. I saw him too.”
“So what does that mean? For you two?”
I don’t have an answer.
The divorce papers are still unsigned. The night in Alice’s apartment happened, but we haven’t talked about what it meant or whether it changes anything. We’re still in limbo, not quite married, not quite divorced, not quite anything I can put a name to.
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “I don’t know what any of this means yet.”
“Maybe that’s okay.” Alice squeezes my arm. “Maybe you don’t have to know tonight. Tonight, you just get to be happy.”
She’s right. She’s absolutely right.
Tonight, I’m not going to think about Hugo or Ginny or the viral clip or any of it. Tonight, I’m going to stand in this room surrounded by people who loved my work and let myself feel proud of what I built.
Tomorrow, I can figure out the rest.
***
The party winds down around midnight.
I say goodbye to the last of the guests, thank Drea and her team profusely, and finally let Alice bundle me into a rideshare home. The exhaustion hits the moment I sit down, the kind of bone-deep tiredness that comes from running on adrenaline for too long.
“You were amazing,” Alice says, leaning her head against the window. “Have I mentioned you were amazing?”
“About twelve times.”
“I’ll make it thirteen. You were amazing.”
I smile and close my eyes, letting the motion of the car rock me toward sleep.
My phone buzzes in my clutch.
I ignore it. I’ve been ignoring it all night, refusing to let social media intrude on my triumph. Whatever’s happening online can wait until tomorrow.
It buzzes again. And again.
“Someone really wants to reach you,” Alice observes.
“It can wait.”
“What if it’s Sandra? Or one of the buyers?”
She has a point. Reluctantly, I pull out my phone and look at the screen.
Seventeen notifications. All from the same news aggregator app I keep meaning to delete.
brEAKING: Ginny Davies speaks out in exclusive interview about “violent attack” by Hugo Kensington’s wife
“I feared for my safety”: Ginny Davies details alleged assault at industry event
Tearful Ginny Davies accuses Lucille Kensington of “unprovoked violence” in sit-down interview
The champagne in my stomach turns to acid.
“Lu?” Alice’s voice comes from somewhere far away. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
I tap the first link with numb fingers.
The video loads, and there’s Ginny, artfully lit, tastefully dressed, her face arranged in an expression of wounded vulnerability that I’m sure took hours to perfect.
She’s sitting across from a sympathetic interviewer, her hands clasped in her lap, her eyes shimmering with tears that look real from this distance.
“I’ve been hesitant to come forward,” she’s saying, her voice trembling just enough to be affecting. “Because I know how it looks. I know people will say I’m just trying to get attention or that I’m exaggerating. But the truth is, I’ve been living in fear.”
“Fear of what?” the interviewer prompts.
“Fear of her. Of Lucille.” Ginny dabs at her eyes with a tissue. “What happened at that mixer was terrifying. One moment we were having a conversation, and the next she was throwing a drink in my face, screaming at me. I thought she was going to physically attack me.”
“The video that’s been circulating online shows you being hit with the drink, but it doesn’t show what led up to it. Can you walk us through what happened?”
“We were talking about Hugo. About our collaboration.” Ginny’s voice cracks. “And she just… snapped. There was no provocation. I didn’t touch her, I didn’t threaten her. She just lost control.”
The lie is so smooth, so convincing, that if I didn’t know the truth, I might believe it myself.
“She shoved me,” I say out loud, my voice hollow. “She shoved me first. The video was edited. Someone cut out the part where she…”
“I know.” Alice takes my hand. “Lu, I know. But she’s already controlling the narrative. This interview is going to air everywhere.”
I scroll down to the comments, already knowing what I’ll find.
Lock her up. Hugo deserves better than this psycho. Ginny is so brave for speaking out. How is she not in jail for assault? Jealous wife energy, so toxic.
The high from the showcase evaporates, replaced by a cold, creeping dread.
“When does this air?” I ask.
“I don’t know. Soon, probably. They wouldn’t release all these teasers unless…”
“Tonight.” I find the timestamp on one of the notifications. “It airs tonight. In twenty minutes.”
Twenty minutes. That’s how long I have before the narrative shifts again, before my triumph gets buried under Ginny’s tearful accusations, before the “volatile wife” story becomes the only story anyone wants to tell.
“What do I do?” My voice comes out small, helpless. “Alice, what do I do?”
She doesn’t have an answer.
Neither do I.
The car pulls up to her building, and I sit there in the backseat with my phone in my hands, watching the countdown to Ginny’s interview tick closer and closer to zero.
An hour ago, I was on top of the world.
Now I’m watching it crumble beneath my feet, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
My phone buzzes again. This time, it’s a text from Hugo.
I saw the interview announcement. I’m so sorry. We need to talk.
I stare at the message for a long moment.
Then I type back: Not tonight. I can’t do this tonight.
I turn off my phone and follow Alice into the building, and I don’t let myself cry until I’m alone in the guest room with the door closed and the darkness pressing in around me.
Tomorrow, I’ll figure out how to fight back.
Tonight, I just need to survive.