CHAPTER 2
The anniversary party looked like a dream from the outside. Lorraine knew because she watched guests experience it one by one.
They stepped through the double doors and softened. Men in tailored tuxedos slowed mid-conversation. Women in silk and sequins tilted their faces toward the chandelier glow. Someone near the entrance whispered, “Oh, Lorraine,” in the tone people used when envy had been trained into admiration.
She accepted every compliment with a smile.
“You’ve outdone yourself.”
“Thank you for coming.”
“This room is unbelievable.”
“You’re kind to say that.”
“Fifteen years. Can you believe it?”
No. She could not.
Aiden found her near the champagne tower at seven twenty-eight, exactly fifteen minutes before his welcome. He looked perfect. Brittany had been right about that.
“Lorraine,” he said.
She looked at his bow tie before she looked at his face.
He noticed.
Something like guilt crossed his features, but it came and went too quickly for her to trust it. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
His gaze moved over her face, searching. “Are we all right?”
What a strange question. What a small, inadequate question to ask while standing in the middle of a room built from her love.
“We have guests,” she said.
His mouth tightened. “That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the only one I’m giving you before your speech.”
He glanced toward the stage, where Brittany stood with a tablet pressed to her chest. She was speaking to the photographer now, angling him toward Aiden’s best side.
Aiden looked back at Lorraine. “Can we not do this tonight?”
Lorraine smiled because a board member’s wife had just approached them. “Of course.”
The woman kissed Lorraine’s cheek, then Aiden’s, then gushed over the flowers. Lorraine thanked her. Aiden slid his hand to the small of Lorraine’s back for the photo, and her body, trained by years of loving him, wanted to lean into him.
She didn’t.
His hand fell away.
At seven thirty-five, Aiden took the stage.
He was built for rooms like this. He knew how to hold silence without asking for it.
He thanked their friends, their partners, the people who had supported them over the last fifteen years.
He thanked the Grand Meridian team, his executive staff, and the investors who had believed in the Devereaux vision.
Lorraine waited.
Aiden turned toward her, and the room followed his gaze.
“And of course,” he said, “none of this would mean anything without Lorraine.”
Polite applause rose around her.
Lorraine stood at the front table, hands folded, smile soft and camera-ready.
“My wife has the rare gift of making every room more beautiful because she understands what belongs there,” Aiden continued. “She’s been my partner, my sounding board, and my calm in more storms than I probably deserve.”
A few people laughed.
Lorraine’s chest ached.
“For fifteen years, she has made my life better than I had any right to expect.” His eyes rested on her, warm enough to almost feel real. “Happy anniversary, sweetheart.”
The applause deepened.
For a moment, Lorraine let herself remember loving him without caution.
Then Brittany began clapping from the side of the stage, eyes bright with tears that had no right to be there.
The champagne was poured. The music shifted. Guests drifted toward dinner. Lorraine took her seat beside Aiden at the head table and made conversation through the first course. Aiden reached for her hand beneath the table once, but she moved to lift her glass before his fingers closed around hers.
Brittany didn’t sit with the staff. She sat two tables away, between Aiden’s operations director and a lifestyle editor from Luxe City.
Lorraine had not placed her there. Brittany caught Aiden’s eye twice during dinner.
Once over a comment from the editor. Once when a server nearly spilled wine and Aiden looked over by instinct.
Lorraine watched the second glance happen. She wondered how many times a woman had to witness a small thing before it became evidence. After dinner, the anniversary video played.
Old photos washed across the screen in soft gold light.
Lorraine and Aiden on a beach in Italy. Aiden carrying her shoes after a charity gala.
Lorraine laughing in the back of a town car.
Their wedding kiss. Their first apartment, before the penthouse, before the hotels multiplied, before everything required a press strategy.
Aiden’s shoulder brushed hers. “I forgot about that one,” he murmured, nodding toward a photo of them on a balcony in Paris.
“You forgot a lot of them.”
He looked at her, but the room had darkened for the video, and she was grateful he couldn’t see her clearly.
When the lights came up, Brittany was standing.
Lorraine felt it before she understood it.
The room turned toward Brittany because she had lifted a champagne flute. She looked a little embarrassed by the attention, which meant she had practiced looking embarrassed. Her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes shone. The chandelier caught on the pale gold of her dress.
Aiden frowned slightly. “What is she doing?”
Lorraine didn’t answer.
Brittany laughed softly. “I know I’m not on the program, and I promise I’ll be quick.”
A few people chuckled.
Lorraine’s fingers curled around her napkin.
“I just wanted to say something because working with Aiden these last few months has been such a privilege.” Brittany turned toward him, her smile tender. “Most people see the success. The hotels, the deals, the headlines, the perfect rooms.”
Her eyes flicked briefly toward Lorraine.
“But very few people see the pressure. The late nights. The impossible decisions. The weight of carrying so many people’s expectations.” Her voice trembled just enough. “Aiden, you have been such a safe place for me during a difficult season. You make people feel protected, and that’s rare.”
The room grew too quiet.
Lorraine stared at Brittany.
Safe place.
At her anniversary dinner.
Aiden shifted beside her. “Brittany,” he said under his breath, not loud enough to stop her.
Brittany lifted her glass. “So tonight, I just want to thank Lorraine for sharing him with all of us. I know that can’t always be easy.”
Lorraine’s stomach dropped.
A few guests clapped because people clapped when they were uncomfortable and wealthy enough to pretend they weren’t.
Lorraine didn’t move.
Aiden looked at her then.
For the first time that evening, he looked afraid.
Brittany sat down, dabbing beneath one eye with her fingertip. The editor beside her leaned close and whispered something. Brittany shook her head with a brave little smile.
Lorraine placed her napkin on the table and stood.
Aiden caught her wrist beneath the table. “Lorraine.”
She looked down at his hand.
He released her.
“I need a moment,” she said.
She walked out through the side doors, not too fast, not too slow.
Her heels clicked against marble. The hallway outside the ballroom was quieter, lined with framed black-and-white photographs of the Grand Meridian through the decades.
Movie stars. Presidents. Brides. Men who built things and women who stood beside them.
Lorraine turned into the private corridor near the coat check and kept walking until the music dulled behind her.
“Lorraine?”
Of course Brittany had followed.
Lorraine stopped near a tall arrangement of white hydrangeas and turned.
Brittany approached with both hands wrapped around her champagne flute, eyes wide as if Lorraine were the dangerous one. “I hope I didn’t upset you.”
The sentence was almost impressive.
Lorraine studied her. Up close, Brittany looked younger than she did under ballroom lighting. Softer. More dangerous for it.
“You gave a toast at my anniversary party calling my husband your safe place.”
Brittany’s lips parted. “That’s not how I meant it.”
“How did you mean it?”
“I was trying to honor him.”
“You honored him by implying I don’t understand him.”
Brittany blinked quickly. “No. God, no. I would never.”
“You did.”
“I think you’re reading into it because you already don’t like me.”
Lorraine’s laugh came out quiet. “I don’t know you well enough to dislike you.”
That struck. Brittany’s soft expression thinned for one second before she recovered.
“I know this is probably hard for you,” Brittany said. “The relaunch has taken so much of Aiden’s time, and I know how women can feel when their husbands are under pressure and someone else understands the work.”
Lorraine stepped closer. “Don’t speak to me about my husband.”
Brittany’s eyes widened again, but this time there was a flicker of satisfaction in them.
Lorraine went cold.
Brittany’s voice rose just enough. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Lower your voice.”
“I said I was sorry.”
“Brittany.”
“Please don’t.” Brittany’s breath hitched. “You’re scaring me.”
Lorraine stared at her.
Then Brittany dropped the champagne flute.
It shattered against the marble.
The sound cracked down the corridor like a gunshot.
Within seconds, a server appeared. Then Claire from Aiden’s office. Then two guests who had clearly been on their way to the restroom and were now thrilled to have stumbled into something worth repeating.
Brittany’s lower lip trembled. Tears spilled over, sudden and theatrical.
“I tried to apologize,” she said, voice shaking. “I didn’t mean anything by the toast.”
Lorraine stood perfectly still.
“Mrs. Devereaux?” Claire looked between them, alarmed. “Is everything all right?”
Before Lorraine could answer, Aiden came down the corridor.
He took in the broken glass. Brittany’s tears. The small audience. Lorraine’s rigid posture.
He didn’t ask what happened.
He moved toward Brittany first.
That was when Lorraine felt something inside her marriage tear.
“Brittany,” he said. “Are you hurt?”
Brittany shook her head, crying harder. “I’m fine. I just wanted to apologize, and she was so angry, and I dropped the glass. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I ruined everything.”
Lorraine looked at her husband.
Aiden finally turned to her. His face was tight with frustration and embarrassment.
“Lorraine,” he said quietly.
The warning in his voice was worse than a shout.
“She followed me out,” Lorraine said.
Aiden glanced at the people watching. “Not here.”
“She gave that toast at our anniversary party.”
“I said not here.”
Brittany made a small, broken sound. Aiden’s attention shifted back to her, quick and instinctive.
Lorraine saw it. Everyone saw it.
Something hot and humiliating climbed her throat. “You’re comforting her?”
Aiden’s eyes flashed. “She’s crying.”
“And I’m your wife.”
The words rang in the corridor, stripped of elegance.
Aiden stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Lorraine, stop.”
She looked at him, waiting. Begging silently for him to choose another sentence.
He didn’t.
“Lorraine, stop. You’re embarrassing yourself.”
The hallway went quiet. Somewhere behind her, the ballroom music kept playing. A server shifted his weight. Brittany sniffed delicately. Claire looked at the floor.
Lorraine felt every eye on her face.
She had planned the flowers. The lighting. The dinner. The video. She had chosen the champagne, the seating, the song the quartet would play when the cake was served. She had built a room around fifteen years of loving this man, and he had left her standing outside it like a jealous spectacle.
Lorraine turned to Brittany.
“Congratulations,” she said softly.
Brittany’s tears paused.
Then Lorraine looked at Aiden. She didn’t recognize the expression on his face or maybe she did.
“I need air,” she said.
Aiden reached for her. “Lorraine.”
She stepped back before he touched her.
Then she walked away from him, down the corridor, past the broken glass, past the flowers, past the framed photographs of beautiful women standing beside powerful men.
She didn’t run.
She didn’t cry.
She made it all the way to the elevator with her dignity intact.
That was the gift she gave him that night.