After His Mistress Lied About Carrying My Husband’s Baby

The room was dark except for the city glow through the curtains. Leland's arm was heavy across my waist, his breathing slow against my neck. I stared at the ceiling and counted the hours until morning.

"You're not sleeping," he said. Not a question.

"No."

He shifted, propped himself on one elbow. In the half-light I could see the shape of his face, the line of his jaw. "Talk to me."

I took a breath. "If I do something tomorrow — something that might cause a scene — will you stand with me?"

He didn't hesitate. Not for a single second. "I will stand with you if you burn the entire Plaza to the ground."

A laugh cracked out of me before I could stop it. A real one. The kind that came from somewhere deep and surprised me on its way out. He loved when I laughed like that. He told me once it was his favorite sound in the world, better than money, better than anything.

I kissed his jaw. "I was thinking something slightly less dramatic."

"Disappointing." He pulled me closer, his hand spreading warm over the curve of my belly. "But I'm flexible."

I closed my eyes. Somewhere out there, across the park, in a brownstone with two mortgages on it, Karson Stewart was probably sleeping too. I wondered if he dreamed about anything. I wondered if guilt ever visited him in the dark the way it visited me.

"Whatever happens tomorrow," Leland murmured against my hair, "you don't have to explain it to me first. You don't have to ask permission. Just do it. I'll be right there."

I believed him. That was the strangest part of my whole life now — that I believed a man completely.

---

Across town, Delaney held up the red dress in front of the mirror.

"Too much?" she asked.

Karson didn't look up from his tie. "It's fine."

"It's not fine, it's perfect." She turned, checking the back. The tag was still tucked inside, four thousand dollars they didn't have. She'd put it on the card anyway. "People need to see we're doing well. That's the whole point tonight."

"I know the point."

"Then act like you know it." She came up behind him, smoothed his collar. In the mirror her eyes found his. "Say it back to me. What do we tell people?"

He sighed. "The firm is growing. We're renovating the brownstone. Everything's great."

"With feeling, Karson."

"Everything's great," he said again, flatter than the first time.

She studied his reflection like she was studying evidence. "You used to be better at this."

"I used to have something to sell."

The words hung there. Neither of them touched them.

"Richard got us the invite," she said finally, stepping back to check her own reflection. "Don't waste it. Smile. Shake hands. Let people remember we exist."

He stared at the man in the mirror. The suit still fit. Everything else didn't.

---

The morning of the gala, Brooke sat cross-legged on the chaise in my dressing room, eating grapes out of a crystal bowl like it was popcorn.

"Turn," she said.

I turned.

She whistled low. "Okay. Wow. You look like a woman who's about to ruin someone's entire life. And I mean that as a compliment."

"Noted."

The dress was midnight blue, the fabric falling over my belly like water finding its own shape. The seamstress had cried a little when she finished the last fitting. I hadn't understood why until I saw myself in this mirror, in this light, with this much at stake.

Valerie stood behind me. She hadn't said much all morning — just watched, the way she always did, taking everything in before she moved. Now she stepped close and lifted something small and gold from a velvet pouch.

Angelo's chain. The one he wore every day of his life, even under his turnout gear. She'd kept it since the funeral, waiting for the right moment. She never told me that. I just knew.

She fastened it around my neck without a word. Her fingers were steady. Mine weren't.

In the mirror, the chain settled against my collarbone, simple and plain against all that couture. It looked like nothing next to the dress. It looked like everything to me.

"He'd be so proud of you," Valerie said quietly.

I couldn't answer. My throat had closed around something too big for words.

Brooke, sensing the moment might drown me if she let it, stood and clapped once. "Okay. Enough crying. You'll ruin the makeup and I paid the girl a fortune to make you look like a Vogue cover."

I laughed, wet and shaky, and wiped my eyes.

That's when Leland appeared in the doorway.

He wore his tuxedo like it had been poured onto him, dark and perfectly cut. But he wasn't looking at his own reflection. He was looking at me. And for one long moment, he didn't move at all. Didn't speak. Just stood there, still as a photograph, like the sight of me had stopped something in his chest.

Then he crossed the room, and offered his arm.

"Ready?" he asked.

I slid my hand into the crook of his elbow. Felt the gold chain settle against my skin like a promise.

"Ready," I said.