I Gave Him Six Years. I Won’t Give Him One More Chance.

Elowen looked down at my hand.

She didn't tug. She didn't twist. She just studied my fingers on her wrist the way you'd study a stain on a tablecloth.

"Take your hand off me."

Her voice was quiet. Almost bored.

I didn't move. I leaned in instead, close enough that the cedar in her perfume stung the back of my throat.

"Look around," I said under my breath. "Half the people in this room were at our wedding. You want to make a scene? Fine. But don't make it ugly."

That was when she finally raised her eyes to mine.

Six years, and I'd never seen them like this. Clear. Flat. Nothing to read.

"Ugly?" she said. "You walked in here with Lila on your arm, Sterling. Did that feel ugly to you?"

Marcus coughed hard into his glass behind me.

My grip didn't loosen. Something hot crawled up the back of my neck.

"That's different."

"Is it?"

Before I could answer, Lila's hand slid around my elbow. Her nails pressed lightly into my sleeve. She stepped up beside me with a soft, sorry little smile, the kind she gave waiters when they brought the wrong wine.

"Elowen, right?" Her voice was warm as tea. "I've heard so much about you. Please don't misunderstand. Sterling and I are just friends who enjoy each other's company. I'd hate for you to think—"

Elowen didn't turn her head. She didn't blink in Lila's direction. It was as if Lila had never opened her mouth.

"Take your hand off me," she said again. Same words. Same tone.

Lila's smile froze. Then it cracked at one corner.

I waited for Kian to jump in. That's what a man like him would do, right? Puff up his chest and play the hero. *Hey, buddy, the lady said back off.*

He didn't say a word.

He just stepped in beside her. His shoulder settled against hers, and his hand came to rest at the small of her back again. Easy. Familiar. He wasn't defending her. He was standing with her.

And Elowen tipped toward him, just an inch, the way a plant leans toward a window.

My fingers dug in tighter. I felt the small bones of her wrist shift under my thumb.

She didn't wince.

She laughed.

It was a short, bright sound, and it made two women by the bar glance over.

"What's so funny?" I snapped.

"You." She shook her head slowly. "You get to bring a date. You get to stand at the bar and tell everyone I'll come crawling home." Her eyebrow lifted. "Oh, I heard Marcus. The whole room heard Marcus. And me? I've been divorced a full year, and I'm still supposed to stay faithful to you? Is that how it works?"

The words hit somewhere under my ribs.

My hand opened on its own.

She pulled her wrist back and rubbed it once with her thumb. There was a red mark there in the shape of my fingers. She didn't even look at it.

"Thank you," she said, like I'd held a door for her.

Then she turned to Kian. "Auction tables?"

"Lead the way."

They walked off. Neither of them looked back.

Marcus let out a long, low whistle. "Man. I've seen you lose deals with less blood on the floor."

"Shut up, Marcus."

"I'm just saying—"

"Don't."

Lila's hand was still on my arm. She squeezed it. "Are you okay?"

I stared at the doorway where Elowen had disappeared. "Fine."

---

Dinner was called twenty minutes later.

The seating chart put us at table six. Elowen and Kian were at table six too. Of course they were. The Harborview Foundation had invited us as a couple for five years running, and nobody had bothered to fix the list.

Kian pulled out her chair. Name cards had her between him and some retired judge.

I walked up and plucked the judge's card off the plate.

"Mind if I switch with you, Your Honor?" I said. "Old friend."

The judge looked at me, then at Elowen, then shrugged and moved to my spot beside Lila.

Lila's lips went thin. She didn't say anything. She just reached for her water glass and drank half of it.

I sat down at Elowen's right. Kian was on her left. She was boxed in between us like a sentence between two periods.

She didn't react. She unfolded her napkin and laid it across her lap.

"Subtle," she said.

"I wanted to talk."

"We're not talking."

The first course came out. Chilled shrimp over shaved ice, lemon wedges, a little silver cup of cocktail sauce. The waiter set a plate in front of each of us.

Kian picked up a shrimp, pinched the tail, and peeled the shell back in one clean strip. He set the pink meat on the edge of Elowen's plate.

Something in my chest clenched like a fist.

"Don't bother," I said. I didn't look at her. I looked right at him. "She doesn't eat seafood."

Kian's hands went still.

The whole table went quiet. Marcus froze with a roll halfway to his mouth. Lila's fork hovered over her plate.

"Six years," I went on, cool and even. "I think I'd know. Shellfish makes her sick. She always ordered the chicken. Always."

Kian turned his head and looked at Elowen. Not at me. At her. Like he was waiting for her call.

She said nothing for a long moment.

Then she picked up the shrimp he'd peeled, dipped the tip into the cocktail sauce, and put it in her mouth.

She chewed slowly. Swallowed. Dabbed the corner of her lip with her napkin.

"I've always eaten it," Elowen said.

Her eyes slid past me, down the table, and stopped on Lila.

"The one who doesn't eat seafood is Lila."

Across the table, Lila's fork slipped from her fingers and clattered against the china.