After My Fiancé Slept With His Ward

The night I turned twenty-five, the rooftop wind smelled like rain. Manhattan glittered below us. Strings of lights swung over the bar. Everyone I knew was there, and none of them were really my friends.

Alessandro Bennett stood by the champagne tower in a black tux. He tapped a spoon against his glass. The music cut out.

"It's that time," he said, smiling. "The Roulette."

People clapped. Somebody whistled. My stomach did what it always did. It folded in half.

This was the fifth year. He started it on my twentieth birthday. He called it training. A Bennett wife has to be poised, he said. She has to tolerate. So every birthday, he picked another woman, and I smiled while he left with her.

A waiter carried out a crystal bowl full of folded cards. Alessandro rolled up his sleeve like a magician. He checked his Patek Philippe, as if we were running late. Then he dipped his hand in.

He didn't even dig. He just took the card on top.

"Lorelei Morris," he read.

Of course. Lorelei was standing right in his line of sight. She always was. She grew up in the Bennett house, the ward his mother took in, and she'd wanted my place since we were kids. She touched her collarbone and laughed like she was surprised.

Alessandro pulled her against his chest. His hand slid low on her back.

"Lorelei is my companion tonight," he said. Then he looked at me. "Be gracious, darling. It's your birthday."

Every head turned. Nobody breathed. They were waiting for my lip to shake. Waiting for me to run to the bathroom, like I did in year two.

I waited too.

But nothing came. No heat in my throat. No tears. Something inside me just stopped, like a clock nobody wound. The air felt very cold and very clear.

I opened my clutch. Next to my lipstick sat a small foil square. One of Lorelei's friends had tucked it there earlier as a joke. "For the lucky girl," she'd giggled.

I walked across the floor. My heels clicked. It was the only sound.

Alessandro watched me come. His smile stayed, but his eyes narrowed. He thought I was going to beg.

I took his hand, turned his palm up, and pressed the condom into it.

"Be safe," I said. "Enjoy your evening. Both of you."

Lorelei's mouth fell open. Alessandro stared at his hand like something had grown there.

"Emerie." His voice dropped. "What is this?"

"A gift. You always say I should be more tolerant."

I turned and walked to the elevator. I didn't look back. Behind me, the silence cracked. Whispers rushed in like water.

The doors slid shut. My reflection in the brass looked calm.

That scared me more than anything.

* * *

I went back to the penthouse after midnight. I didn't know where else to go yet.

His shoes were in the foyer. Hers were next to them. Red soles, kicked over sideways.

The bedroom door was half open. I heard her laugh. Then his voice, low and lazy.

Five years ago, I would have sat in the hallway and cried until dawn. Tonight I went to the kitchen. I filled a glass with water. Two ice cubes, the way Lorelei liked it.

I walked in. They both froze. Alessandro sat up fast, the sheet bunched at his waist.

"Don't make a scene, Emerie."

"I'm not." I set the glass on the nightstand beside Lorelei. "You'll be thirsty later."

Lorelei pulled the blanket up to her chin. For once, she had nothing clever to say.

"What the hell are you doing?" Alessandro asked. He didn't sound guilty. He sounded confused. Like a man whose furniture had moved on its own.

"Goodnight," I said, and closed the door.

In my room, I sat on the bed and opened my phone. Twenty years lived in there. Prom. Paris. The night he proposed, with his mother standing right behind him. Thousands of pictures.

Select all. Delete.

Then the messages. Then the voicemails I'd saved, the rare ones where he said something kind. Delete. Delete. Delete.

My thumb never shook. When I finished, the camera roll was blank and white. It looked like fresh snow.

* * *

Last was the bracelet.

The Bennett heirloom. Diamonds set in old platinum. Judith clasped it on my wrist when I was sixteen. After that, I polished it every single night with a soft cloth, like a prayer. Like if it shined enough, I would finally belong.

I pressed the clasp. It slid off so easily. It always could have.

I set it on the marble counter. It made one tiny click.

I packed a single carry-on. Jeans. Old sweaters. The little notebook from the bottom drawer, the one he never knew existed. Nothing he ever bought me.

I took the subway. The car was almost empty. A man slept against the window. The train rattled over the bridge, and the Manhattan lights fell away behind me.

It was 2 a.m. when I reached the shop. Chavez Meats. The sign was dark, but a light glowed in back. Mom never slept well.

I knocked. The bell jingled as the door opened.

Rachel Chavez stood there in her robe, her gold locket resting on her chest. She looked at my face. Then she looked at my wrist. Bare.

She didn't ask a single question.

She reached behind the counter, pulled down a clean white apron, and held it out.

I took it. It smelled like bleach and cold steel and home.

Somewhere across the river, my phone started buzzing. I let it.