2. Rae
RAE
The penthouse was quiet.
I sat curled on the sofa with my tablet, staring at paint swatches I'd been looking at for three days, when Enid's face filled the screen. She didn't wait for me to say hello.
"Tell me you're not still looking at that kitchen," she said.
"I'm not still looking at the kitchen." I swiped to the next swatch, a soft gray that looked like every other soft gray. "I'm looking at the house in Cibolo Heights. Or I was supposed to be."
Enid leaned closer to her camera, squinting. "Rae, those are the same swatches you showed me on Tuesday."
"I know." I set the tablet down and rubbed my face. God, I felt like an idiot admitting it out loud. "Nash said maybe next week. If he could clear the schedule."
"Maybe." Enid's voice flattened. She crossed her arms, and I could see her kitchen behind her, the warm yellow walls and the herbs on the windowsill that she actually got to pick herself. "He said maybe."
"He's been busy with the airline. There's a lot going on right now, and I don't want to be the kind of wife who nags him about a house when he's got a business to run."
"Rae—"
"It's fine," I said quickly. Too quickly, probably. My throat went tight. "We'll get there. I just need to be patient."
Enid made a noise that told me exactly what she thought about patience. "You've been patient for six months. How much longer are you supposed to wait before he remembers he has a wife?"
My stomach dropped. "That's not fair."
"Isn't it?"
Before I could answer, the elevator chimed. I heard voices — Nash's low and familiar, and another woman's sharp laugh that I recognized immediately.
"I have to go," I said.
"Is that Adriana?" Enid's face pinched. "Rae, don't let her walk all over you in your own home. You need to tell Nash?—"
I ended the call. My hands were shaking as I stood up, smoothing my palms down the front of my jeans like that would somehow make me presentable.
I was wearing an old T-shirt and no makeup, my hair in a messy bun, and I looked exactly like someone who'd spent the afternoon alone staring at paint swatches she wasn't allowed to use.
Nash came in first, jacket off and slung over one arm, tie loosened, the top button of his shirt undone. He looked like he'd been working since dawn. He probably had. The afternoon light caught in his dark hair, and even tired he moved with that easy confidence that used to make my heart stutter.
It still did, which made me feel pathetic.
Adriana followed, her heels clicking on the hardwood, her silk blouse the kind of effortless expensive that made my T-shirt feel like a rag. She had her phone in one hand and a leather portfolio tucked under her arm, sweeping into the penthouse like she owned it.
Behind her was Elias, Nash's younger brother, carrying a laptop case and a stack of binders that looked ready to avalanche.
He was broader than Nash, his hair a shade lighter, and where Nash had the sharp edges of someone who'd built an empire, Elias still had something softer around the eyes.
He caught my gaze and gave me a small smile.
It was the first kind thing I'd seen all week.
"Rae." Nash barely glanced at me as he crossed to the dining table and set down his briefcase. The leather thudded against the wood. "We need the table. Adriana's got the route analysis, and we're running out of time to make the call before Monday's board meeting."
Not hello. Not how was your day. Just the table.
"Of course," I said.
Adriana was already spreading printouts across the surface, her perfectly manicured nails tapping against the wood as she sorted through what looked like a small forest worth of spreadsheets.
She moved like someone who knew exactly where she belonged.
She looked up at me, her expression polite and empty in that way that somehow felt worse than open hostility.
"Rae, would you mind getting us some coffee?
" She didn't phrase it like a question. She didn't wait for an answer either, just turned back to Nash.
"The projections are worse than we thought.
If we don't adjust the Denver schedule now, we're going to bleed passengers to Southwest through the winter, and the margin on that route is already too thin to survive a ten percent drop. "
My jaw tightened. Would you mind. Like I was the housekeeper.
"I can get the coffee," Elias said quietly.
"No, it's fine." I forced the words out evenly, keeping my voice level even though something hot and humiliating was crawling up the back of my neck. "I've got it."
I went to the kitchen, my hands shaking just enough that I had to grip the counter for a second before I reached for the mugs.
I could hear them talking — Adriana's voice crisp and confident, Nash asking questions, Elias saying something I couldn't make out.
Through the breakfast bar I could see them bent over the table, Adriana standing close enough to Nash that her shoulder nearly brushed his.
I made the coffee. Four mugs, because Elias would want one even if he didn't drink it. I arranged them on a tray with the cream and sugar and carried it back out.
I set it down on the edge of the table without a word.
"Thank you, Rae," Elias said.
Nash and Adriana didn't look up. She was pointing at a column of numbers, and Nash was nodding, his jaw tight.
I sat back down on the sofa and picked up my tablet. Pretended to care about paint swatches while my husband worked ten feet away.
The light outside was starting to go golden, late afternoon slanting through the windows.
Nobody seemed to notice. Adriana talked routes and load factors and crew costs, her voice never wavering.
Nash listened, asked sharp questions, made notes in the margin of a printout.
Elias pulled up something on his laptop and angled the screen so Nash could see.
They worked. I sat.
"The issue isn't the route," Nash said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. The motion pulled his shirt tight across his shoulders.
Ugh. I looked away. "It's the equipment.
We're running the seven-thirty-eights on Denver and they're too big for off-peak.
We need to swap in the seven-thirty-sevens and move the seven-thirty-eights to the Phoenix overnight where we can actually fill them. "
I looked up. "The seven-thirty-eight's going to burn more fuel on a Phoenix overnight than you'll make back on the seat premium, especially if you're running it half-empty in January."
The table went quiet.
Nash glanced over at me, something surprised flickering across his face. Adriana's expression didn't change, but I saw her spine straighten.
"The range is better on the seven-thirty-eight, I get that," I added, because now they were all looking at me and I felt like I had to finish.
My pulse kicked up. "But you'd be better off with the A-three-twenty if you've got the fleet for it.
Better fuel economy, and the passenger comfort is close enough that you won't lose the premium customers. "
Elias grinned. "She's right."
Adriana tilted her head, her smile thin and sharp.
"That's sweet, Rae. But the A-three-twenties are already committed to the Dallas expansion, and we can't pull them without violating the crew agreements we just spent six months negotiating.
It's a little more complicated than just picking the plane you like best based on the specs. "
The condescension in her voice was so smooth I almost missed it. Almost.
My face went hot. I looked down at my tablet, my pulse kicking hard against my ribs.
"Rae knows aircraft," Elias said. He wasn't smiling anymore. "She's got her A&P license. She probably knows the fleet better than half the ops team."
Adriana waved a hand, dismissive. "I'm sure she does. But knowing how to fix a plane isn't the same as understanding the business side, Elias. There's a lot more that goes into these decisions than just the technical specs. No offense, Rae."
No offense. God, I wanted to throw the coffee tray at her head.
I said nothing. I sat there with my tablet in my lap and my jaw clenched so tight my teeth ached, and I waited.
I could feel Nash watching me, could feel the moment hanging there, waiting for him to say actually, my wife is right or Adriana, that was out of line or anything that acknowledged I wasn't just furniture in my own house.
He looked back at the spreadsheets. "Let's table the equipment swap for now and focus on the schedule. Adriana, can you pull the winter demand model?"
Something in my chest went cold and tight, like all the air had been pressed out of it.
Adriana smiled. "Already loaded." She pulled her laptop closer and started typing, her nails clicking against the keys.
They bent back over the work. Elias shot me a look that might have been an apology, but I couldn't meet his gaze. I stared at my tablet, at the paint swatches I'd been looking at for days, at the house Nash kept saying maybe about, and felt my hands curl into fists against my thighs.
The work went on. Adriana pulled up charts, pointed at graphs, explained projections in that brisk confident voice. Nash listened, nodded, asked questions. Elias took notes, occasionally interjecting.
I sat on the sofa and disappeared.
Twenty minutes later Adriana straightened and looked at Nash.
"You need to be at the facility tomorrow," she said.
"The FAA's sending an inspector for the route expansion audit, and if we don't pass the compliance review by Friday we lose the launch window.
I know it's short notice, but this is the kind of thing that needs you there in person, not a VP. "
Nash was already nodding, already pulling his phone from his pocket. "What time?"
"Early. We need you there by six."
He didn't hesitate. Didn't look at me. Didn't ask if we had plans. He just nodded and started scrolling through his calendar, his thumb moving over the screen.
"Nash." My voice came out quieter than I meant it to. He didn't look up. I tried again, louder. "Nash, I wanted to ask you about this weekend?—"
The screen lit up in his palm. He glanced at the screen, his brow furrowing, and then he was reading something, his attention sliding away from me like water off glass. His thumb scrolled, once, twice, his eyes tracking the text.
I stopped talking. Sat there with my mouth half-open like an idiot while my husband read emails and Adriana kept talking and Elias pretended not to notice.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to walk over and take the phone out of his hand and make him look at me, really look at me, and see that I was sitting ten feet away in the home we were supposed to share and I was drowning.
I wanted to ask him when the airline had become more important than the woman he married, or if it had always been this way and I'd just been too in love to notice.
I didn't say any of it.
I set the tablet down on the sofa cushion, stood up without a word, and walked quietly toward the bedroom.
Behind me I heard Adriana laugh at something Nash said, the sound bright and easy.
Heard the rustle of paper. Heard Elias ask a question about fuel hedging and Nash answer without missing a beat.
The work continued. I slipped away like I'd never been there at all.
I closed the bedroom door and leaned against it, my heart hammering in my chest, my jaw so tight it ached. I pressed my palms flat against the wood and closed my eyes and told myself I was being ridiculous, that Nash was just busy.
The lie didn't stick.
I didn't go back out.
An hour later I heard the elevator chime, heard Nash's voice saying something about the FAA inspection, heard the low murmur of Adriana's reply. The elevator doors closed. The penthouse went quiet.
When I finally came out the dining table was still covered in printouts and binders and coffee mugs I'd have to clear myself. The sun had set. The city lights glittered outside the windows, cold and distant, and Nash was in his office on a call, his voice low and steady through the closed door.
I stood in the hallway, looking at the mess they'd left behind, at the home that didn't feel like mine anymore.
I wanted to be the priority in my own house. I wanted him to choose me, just once, over the work and the schedules and Adriana's sharp smile.
I didn't say it out loud. I went to the kitchen, started putting the mugs in the dishwasher, and told myself it would get better. That he was just busy. That I was being unfair expecting him to defend me when he didn't even realize anything was wrong.
The lie tasted bitter, but I swallowed it anyway.