22. Lena
LENA
I sat down at the table and reached for my water glass.
The ballroom hummed with conversation, voices layered over the soft pulse of music I couldn't quite place.
Chandeliers hung overhead, their light spilling across round tables draped in ivory linen, each one set with more silverware than anyone actually needed.
The whole room had that careful polish industry events always had, everyone dressed like they wanted something from someone else.
Women in gowns that probably cost more than my monthly rent at the restaurant, men in tailored suits that looked like they'd been made for them.
Awards nights were a performance, even when nobody was on stage yet.
I watched a woman at the next table lean in to whisper something to her companion, her diamond bracelet catching the light.
He laughed, too loud, and she touched his arm like she was steadying herself.
Across the room a group of men stood near the bar, their voices carrying over the music, talking about someone's latest deal or restaurant opening or whatever it was men like that talked about when they thought everyone was listening.
I used to come to events like this and feel like I was drowning.
Like I didn't belong in rooms this expensive, with people this polished, all of them knowing exactly who Theo Marchand was and none of them knowing my name.
I'd stand beside him and smile and nod and pretend I didn't notice the way their eyes slid past me to find someone more interesting.
Tonight felt different.
Theo pulled out the chair across from me and sat down.
He didn't check his phone. He didn't glance toward the doors to see who had arrived. He just settled into the chair, unfolded his napkin, and looked at me like I was the only person in the room worth looking at.
"You okay?" he asked.
"I'm fine."
He smiled, the kind that reached his eyes, the kind that made the skin at the corners crease in that way I'd always loved.
I felt the warmth of it settle somewhere in my chest, that stupid flutter I got whenever he looked at me like that.
Three months of nights like this, of him sitting down across from me and staying there, and it still caught me off guard sometimes.
Like I was waiting for the old version to come back, the one who'd stand up halfway through a meal because someone needed him or his phone buzzed with something urgent.
But he didn't.
The first course arrived, small plates of something arranged too carefully to look accidental.
Greens I didn't recognize, a piece of fish that looked like it had been painted onto the plate, a drizzle of sauce in a pattern someone probably practiced.
Theo picked up his fork and started eating.
He didn't stand. He didn't wave someone over to talk shop or ask the server how the kitchen was running tonight.
He sat there and ate the whole thing, taking his time, and when the server came to clear the plates he thanked her without looking past her to see who else was in the room.
I picked at my own plate, not because I wasn't hungry, but because I couldn't stop watching him.
Watching the way he stayed in his seat. The way his attention didn't wander.
The way he cut his fish and ate it and reached for his wine glass and set it back down, all of it ordinary, all of it unremarkable, all of it exactly what I'd spent twelve years wishing he would do.
God, it was still hard to believe.
"What?" he said, catching me staring.
"Nothing."
"Lena."
"I'm just—" I set my fork down. "I'm just glad you're here."
His hand moved across the table to cover mine, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. Over the ring. I turned my hand to lace my fingers through his, and his grip tightened.
"I'm not going anywhere," he said.
I believed him.
The second course came, something with roasted vegetables and a sauce I didn't care about.
Theo ate it without rushing, and we talked about nothing important.
The restaurant, how Maggie's new supplier had sent her the wrong cut of beef and she'd called them herself to fix it.
The weird weather we'd been having, hot one day and cool the next.
Small things. Real things. The kind of conversation I used to dream about having with him at a table like this, back when he never sat down long enough to finish a sentence, when every meal we had together felt like I was eating alone while he stood somewhere across the room.
A waiter moved past our table with a tray of champagne glasses, and I caught a glimpse of a couple two tables over. The man was on his phone, his plate untouched, and the woman across from him was staring at her wine like she'd rather be anywhere else. I knew that look. I'd worn it enough times.
I looked back at Theo. He was still sitting. Still eating. Still here.
My chest ached in that good way, the kind that felt like relief and gratitude all tangled together.
I was halfway through my own plate when I felt it.
That prickle at the back of my neck, the one that said someone was watching. I looked up and scanned the room, my fork pausing over my plate, and that's when I saw her.
Bianca.
She stood near the entrance, her coat already checked, her eyes moving across the ballroom like she was looking for someone.
She wore something dark and sleek, her hair pulled back, everything about her as sharp and calculated as it had always been.
I didn't need to see the details to know she looked perfect. She always did.
My stomach tightened.
Theo must have seen the change in my face because he turned to follow my gaze. His whole body went still when he spotted her, his hand tightening around his fork.
"What the hell is she doing here?" he said, his voice low.
"I don't know."
She hadn't seen us yet. She was talking to someone, a man in an expensive suit I didn't recognize, her hand resting lightly on his arm like they were old friends.
Probably a client. Someone from outside Theo's world, someone who didn't know what she'd done or didn't care.
That's how she'd gotten in. She couldn't walk into one of Theo's restaurants anymore, not after what he'd done to her professionally, but this wasn't his event.
This was some industry awards thing, open to anyone with the right connections or the right guest.
She turned, scanning the room again, and her eyes landed on our table.
On Theo.
Then on me.
I watched her face shift, just for a second. Surprise, maybe. Or disbelief. She hadn't expected to see us here together, that much was clear. She definitely hadn't expected to see me wearing my ring.
But she recovered fast. She always did. Her expression smoothed out, that practiced smile sliding into place, and she said something to the man beside her before she started walking toward us.
"Lena," Theo said, his voice tight.
"I know."
"You don't have to do this."
"Yes, I do."
I set my fork down and wiped my hands on my napkin, folding it carefully and setting it beside my plate.
My pulse kicked up, that old familiar flutter I got whenever Bianca was around, but this time it felt different.
This time I wasn't alone. This time Theo wasn't going to let her walk all over me while he stood there and didn't notice.
She reached our table and stopped, her smile still perfectly in place.
"Theo," she said, like she was greeting an old friend. "I didn't expect to see you here. I thought you'd stepped away from all of this."
"Bianca." His voice was flat, no warmth in it at all.
Her eyes flicked to me, just for a second, before sliding back to him. "It's been a while. You look well. Rested, even. I suppose that's what happens when you're not running an empire anymore."
She shifted her weight, her hand lifting toward him, fingers reaching for his collar the way she used to.
That casual little gesture, the one I'd watched her do a hundred times, like she had every right to touch him, to straighten something that didn't need straightening, to keep her hand on him longer than the task required.
Theo stepped back.
He didn't say anything. He didn't slap her hand away or make a scene. He just moved, one smooth step that put him out of reach before her fingers could brush the fabric, and her hand hung there in the air for a moment before she dropped it.
Her smile didn't falter, but something flickered behind her eyes. Surprise. Anger, maybe. Something sharp.
"Well," she said, her voice bright and brittle. "I see some things have changed."
She turned to me then, that smile sharpening at the edges.
"Lena. You must be so proud of Theo. He's built such an incredible legacy, and even though he's stepped back, his name still carries so much weight in this industry.
It must be comforting, knowing that all the work he put in, all those years, all those late nights building something that mattered—it's still out there, still thriving, even without him at the helm. "
There it was. That little dig, wrapped up in pleasantries, designed to make me feel small.
To remind me that I was just the wife, standing in the shadow of everything he'd built without me, and that stepping back meant he'd given up something important, something that defined him, and all I'd done was take him away from it.
It might have worked, once.
Theo didn't give her the chance to land it.
"Lena's the reason any of it mattered," he said, his voice cutting across hers, clear and firm and loud enough that the couple at the next table turned to look. "And if you're looking for comfort, you won't find it here."
Bianca blinked, her smile freezing in place.
"I'm sorry," she said, but she wasn't talking to him anymore.
She was looking at me, her eyes hard, her voice dropping lower.
"I didn't mean to overstep. I'm sure you understand how much work goes into maintaining a brand like Theo's.
All the planning, the strategy, the connections.
It's a shame when all that effort gets set aside for—well. I'm sure you have your reasons."
"I think you should go," I said.
My voice came out steady, calmer than I felt.
I wasn't going to shout at her. I wasn't going to make a scene in the middle of this ballroom, give her the satisfaction of watching me lose control the way she probably wanted.
But I wasn't going to stand here and let her cut at me anymore, either.
I wasn't going to let her pretend she had any right to be here, talking to us like she still mattered.
She stared at me, her mouth opening like she was going to say something else, something cutting and sharp that would put me back in my place.
But then she seemed to realize there was nothing left to say.
No angle to work. No opening to slip through.
No version of this where she walked away looking like she'd won.
Theo stood beside me, his hand finding the small of my back, solid and warm and exactly where it should be. He didn't move. He didn't step away. He stood there, right beside me, and I felt the heat of him through my dress, the steady pressure of his palm against my spine.
Bianca's gaze dropped to my hand, to the ring on my finger, and I saw the moment it hit her. The realization. She hadn't just lost him. She'd lost everything she thought she'd had, everything she thought she could still take from me.
"Of course," she said finally, her voice tight, clipped at the edges. "I wouldn't want to intrude. Enjoy your evening."
She turned away from us, her shoulders stiff, her movements precise and controlled like she was trying very hard not to let anyone see how much it cost her.
She started walking back toward the entrance, her heels clicking against the floor, sharp and rhythmic.
She didn't look back. She didn't stop to talk to anyone else.
She just walked straight through the ballroom, past the tables full of people who didn't know and didn't care what had just happened, and disappeared through the doors.
I watched her go, my heart still pounding, my hand curled tight around the edge of the table. My throat felt tight, my chest aching with something that wasn't quite relief and wasn't quite victory but sat somewhere in between.
Theo's hand moved from my back to my shoulder, his fingers squeezing gently.
"You okay?" he asked.
I looked up at him. He was watching me, his eyes steady, his whole focus on me and nothing else. Not the people at the tables around us who were probably whispering about what they'd just seen. Not the doors Bianca had just walked through. Just me.
"Yeah," I said. "I'm okay."
He pulled out my chair, waited for me to sit back down, and then took his own seat across from me.
The server appeared a moment later with the next course, setting the plates down like nothing had happened, like we were just another couple at another table having another dinner.
Theo picked up his fork again and started eating, slow and unhurried, like we had all the time in the world.
He didn't get up. He didn't excuse himself to make a call or check in with someone across the room or handle whatever crisis might be waiting for him outside these walls. He just sat there, eating his meal with me, exactly like he'd promised he would.
And for the first time in twelve years, I believed it would last.