2. Fran
— ? —
Fran
The Davis family gathering is exactly as miserable as I expected.
I’m standing near the windows with a glass of wine I haven’t touched, watching my husband laugh with Sloane Vaughn across the room, and I’m cataloging all the ways this is different from how he is with me.
The openness of his posture. The way he leans in when she talks, like every word matters. The genuine amusement that creases the corners of his eyes when she says something clever.
I’ve been married to this man for nineteen months, and I have never once seen him this relaxed in public.
Not with his family, not with business associates, not with me.
The only time I’ve ever glimpsed this version of Logan is behind closed doors, in the dark, in those stolen hours when he softens and makes me believe things that daylight always proves to be lies.
And now here he is, giving all of that to her, in a room full of people, like it costs him nothing.
I take a sip of wine. It tastes like disappointment.
“You know,” a voice says beside me, “if you keep glaring at him like that, your face might freeze that way.”
“I thought the expression was ‘if you keep making that face, it’ll freeze that way,’” I say, not looking away from my husband and his childhood sweetheart. “Glaring isn’t technically a face.”
“It is when you do it.” Theo Davis appears at my elbow, holding two glasses of champagne. He offers me one. “Trade you. Your wine looks warm.”
“My wine is fine.”
“Your wine is a prop and we both know it.” He waggles the champagne. “Come on. If you’re going to stand here and suffer, at least do it with decent bubbles.”
I take the champagne because he’s right about the wine. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.” He clinks his glass against mine. “To surviving family events.”
“God, yes.” I take a longer sip than I probably should.
I turn to find Theo grinning at me, Logan’s younger brother, all dark hair and sharp cheekbones and the easy charm his brother never learned.
Theo is everything Logan isn’t: social, flirtatious, comfortable in his own skin.
He’s also the only person in this family who’s ever treated me like a human being instead of an acquisition.
“I’m not glaring,” I say belatedly. “I’m observing.”
“Uh huh.” Theo slides into the space beside me, close enough that our shoulders almost touch. “And what are you observing, exactly? The way my brother looks at Sloane like she hung the moon? Or the way you look at my brother like you’re planning his funeral?”
“Is it that obvious?” I ask, and I hate how tired my voice sounds.
“Only to anyone with eyes.” Theo shrugs. “And functioning emotional intelligence, which rules out approximately ninety percent of the people in this room. You’re safe from the parental units, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I’m not worried about them.”
“No?” He raises an eyebrow. “Because my mother’s been watching you like a hawk all night. I think she’s concerned you’re not performing wifely duties with sufficient enthusiasm.”
“Wifely duties,” I repeat flatly.
“Her words, not mine. Well - her implication. She’d never say anything so gauche out loud.” Theo takes a sip of his champagne. “But I’ve heard her asking my father about ‘the situation’ at least three times tonight, so. Fair warning.”
“The situation being…?”
“You. Logan. The notable lack of public displays of affection.” He gestures with his glass toward where Logan and Sloane are still deep in conversation. “Also, probably, that.”
I follow his gaze. Sloane has her hand on Logan’s arm again, her head tilted back in laughter at something he said. He’s smiling, actually smiling, and the knife between my ribs twists a little deeper.
“Your mother wanted this match,” I say quietly. “The families. The business connection. Why would she care if we’re not enthusiastic?”
Theo’s expression shifts into something almost serious.
“Because the match was supposed to come with certain expectations, Fran. A nice, neat family picture. Social events where the happy couple actually looks happy.” He pauses.
“Also, I think she’s starting to realize that my brother might be an idiot who doesn’t appreciate what he has, and that reflects badly on her. ”
“That’s very self-aware for a Davis.”
“I’m the black sheep. We’re allowed to see clearly.” He grins. “It’s basically the only perk.”
He steals my champagne glass, takes a sip, and hands it back. “For what it’s worth, I think he’s an idiot.”
“For what?”
“For not noticing you.” Theo’s voice is light, but there’s something underneath it that sounds almost serious. “You’re standing over here looking like a sad art piece, and he hasn’t glanced your way once. That’s the kind of thing a man should notice about his wife.”
The word wife lands heavy in my chest. I am his wife. Legally, officially, on paper and in name and in every way that’s supposed to matter. But standing here watching him with Sloane, I’ve never felt less like anyone’s anything.
“It’s complicated,” I say, because I don’t know how to explain the rest of it. The arrangement. The two-year deal that’s starting to feel less like a prison sentence and more like a slow-motion heartbreak.
“I’m not sure what the point would be,” I add. “Even if he noticed.”
“The point is that you’re standing over here miserable while my brother plays catch-up with a woman who’s been in love with him since we were kids, and that’s not fair to you.
” Theo’s voice drops, suddenly serious. “Look, I know this marriage wasn’t exactly a love match.
I know how our families operate. But you’re here, Fran.
You’ve been showing up for nineteen months, and he treats you like furniture. ”
“He’s not that bad.”
“He brought another woman home to eat your cooking without telling you.” Theo shakes his head. “That’s bad, Fran. That’s really bad.”
I want to argue with him, but I can’t. It was bad. It’s been bad for months, the coldness, the distance, the way he looks through me in public like I’m a stranger he’s been forced to share space with.
“Why do you care?” I ask instead. “You barely know me.”
“Because you’re the first person in this family I actually like.
” Theo’s grin comes back, but it’s gentler now.
“And because watching my brother self-destruct is exhausting, and maybe if he sees you enjoying yourself with someone else, he’ll pull his head out of his ass long enough to realize what he’s losing. ”
“He’s just dumb. Most men are.” Theo grins. “Want me to prove it?”
“Prove what?”
“That he’s not as oblivious as he looks.” Theo’s grin sharpens into something mischievous. “Laugh at something I say. Make it good - like I just told you the funniest thing you’ve ever heard.”
I blink at him. “What?”
“Trust me.” His hand drops to my waist, casual and warm, and I’m too surprised to pull away. “Now laugh.”
I don’t have to fake it, the absurdity of the situation does the work for me. A laugh bubbles out, genuine and startled, and Theo beams like I’ve just given him a present.
“Perfect,” he murmurs. “Now watch.”
I watch.
Across the room, Logan’s head snaps around like someone yanked it on a string.
His eyes find us, me and Theo, standing close, Theo’s hand on my waist, and something dark crosses his face.
His jaw tightens. His shoulders square. And then he’s moving, cutting through the crowd with the kind of focused intent I’ve only ever seen him bring to his work.
“Told you,” Theo says, sounding delighted. “Works every time.”
Logan reaches us in three strides. He looks between me and Theo, that dark expression settling into something harder, and I realize with a start that this is the most attention he’s paid me in weeks.
“Theo,” he says flatly. “What are you doing?”
“Talking to your wife.” Theo doesn’t remove his hand from my waist. “Someone should.”
“Theo-”
“Oh, don’t get your hackles up. We were just laughing at your expense.” Theo’s grin is all innocence. “She has a great sense of humor, you know. You’d know that too, if you ever talked to her.”
Logan’s eyes cut to me. I meet them and refuse to look away, even though my heart is pounding so hard I’m sure he can hear it.
“Fran,” he says, and something about the way he says my name makes my stomach flip.
Before I can respond, Sloane appears at his elbow.
“There you are!” She slides her arm through his, proprietary and smooth. “I was just telling your mother about that summer at the lake - remember? When you tried to build that raft and it sank?”
The tension drains out of Logan’s shoulders. He turns toward Sloane, and just like that, I’m background noise again.
“I remember,” he says, and there’s a warmth in his voice that makes me want to scream.
Theo squeezes my waist once, sympathetic, maybe, or just acknowledging the absurdity, before letting go. “See what I mean?” he murmurs. “Dumb as a box of rocks.”
I watch my husband laugh at something Sloane says, a real laugh this time, open and full, the first I’ve ever heard from him in public, and my chest feels like it’s caving in. He’s never laughed like that with me. Not once in all the time I’ve known him.
I watch his mother beam at them like they’re the perfect couple. I watch his father nod approvingly, and I think about the deal that brought me here, the business arrangement disguised as a marriage.
What I don’t watch is myself.
But if I did, I know what I’d see: a woman standing on the edge of a crowd that doesn’t want her, married to a man who doesn’t see her, desperately in love with a version of him that only exists in the dark.
Theo stays beside me for the rest of the party.
He’s good company, sharp-tongued and self-aware, quick with a joke when the silence gets too heavy.
He tells me about Logan as a kid, the awkward teenager who couldn’t make eye contact, the young man who poured all his feeling into wood and craft because people were too unpredictable to trust.
“He wasn’t always like this,” Theo says at one point, watching his brother across the room. “The ice thing - that’s learned, maybe. He used to just be quiet. Intense. But not cold.”
“What changed?”
Theo’s mouth twists. “Our parents happened. Their expectations, their idea of what a Davis should be.” He pauses.
“They’ve been pulling away from him lately.
Dad barely returns his calls, Mom keeps making pointed comments about family obligation.
I think Logan’s under more pressure than he lets on. ”
“What kind of pressure?”
“The usual, you know. Perform, succeed, be the son they want instead of the one they have.” Theo shrugs. “And when he doesn’t meet their standards, they withdraw. It’s their favorite punishment.”
I think about that for a long moment. About the man who touches me like I’m precious when we’re alone, who talks to me in the dark like I’m the only person in the world. About the man who looks through me in public, who flinches from my touch, who keeps a careful arm’s length even in photographs.
Maybe they’re both real. Maybe neither of them is.
Across the room, I catch my parents watching me. My father’s face is neutral, unreadable, but my mother leans toward him and murmurs something, and they both glance at Logan with Sloane, then back to me standing alone with Theo.
I know what they’re thinking. I know what everyone in this room is thinking.
“Five months,” I say quietly to Theo. “That’s how long until the two years is up.”
Theo looks at me, something like sadness in his eyes. “And then what?”
I don’t have an answer. I’m not sure there is one.
***
It’s late by the time we leave. Logan drives in silence, and I stare out the window at the dark streets rolling past, and I think about all the things I want to say and don’t know how to start.
I’m in love with you. I hate that I’m in love with you. I wish you’d look at me the way you look at her. I wish the man you are at night could survive the sunrise. I wish I knew if any of this is real.
I don’t say any of it.
When we get home, he disappears into his workshop like he always does. I hear the whine of machinery, the steady rhythm of a man shaping wood into something beautiful, and I go upstairs alone and lie in the dark and wait.
I think about the conversations I overheard tonight, my parents, his parents, all the sideways glances and loaded silences.
Something is happening that no one is telling me about.
Pressure from somewhere, expectations I don’t fully understand.
Theo mentioned his parents pulling away, but there’s more to it than that. I can feel it.
And Sloane. The way she moves through Logan’s space like she owns it, like she has every right to be there. The way she looked at me tonight, not with hostility, exactly, but with a kind of patient certainty. Like I’m temporary. Like she’s just waiting for her turn.
I wonder if she has a key to our house. Last week I came upstairs and found her closing our bedroom door, claiming she was looking for the bathroom.
The bathroom is downstairs. I didn’t say anything, didn’t want to seem paranoid, but the memory sits wrong in my stomach now.
I wonder what she was really doing up there.
The thought makes me want to check every lock in the building.
Logan comes to bed eventually. He always does.
His hands find me under the covers, and for a few hours, he’s different, tender, desperate, wanting me in a way that feels too real to be a lie.
He touches me like I matter. He whispers things against my skin that I try not to hear, because if I hear them, I’ll believe them, and if I believe them, it’ll break me when the sun comes up.
After, when he’s asleep beside me, I stare at the ceiling and try to remember what I was before this marriage.
A woman with her own flower farm. A woman with a name that meant something. A woman who was never going to be second-best, who was never going to disappear into the wallpaper of someone else’s life.
I don’t know where that woman went.
But I know I have to find her again, because this, this slow suffocation, this loneliness that lives in a house with another person, is not something I can survive for five more months.
Or maybe I can. Maybe surviving is all I’m good for.
I turn on my side, away from my sleeping husband, and I’m almost asleep when his phone buzzes on the nightstand.
He doesn’t stir. He never does, sleeps like the dead, this man, like nothing in the world could touch him once his eyes close.
I shouldn’t look. I know I shouldn’t look.
I look.
The screen glows in the darkness, and Sloane’s name stares back at me: Tonight was so wonderful. Just like old times. Can’t wait to do it again. xo
I put the phone back exactly where I found it. I stare at the ceiling until my eyes burn.
Five more months.