I Married The Man With My Husband’s Heart

Dane moved fast. Faster than I had ever seen him move.

He grabbed Braden by the collar with both hands. He yanked him off me so hard my wrist burned. Then he slammed him back against the bar railing. The metal rang like a bell. Braden's whiskey flew out of his hand and over the edge, twenty stories down into the dark.

"Touch her again," Dane said. His voice was low. Too low. "And they'll be picking you up off Gansevoort Street."

Braden's red face went white. His shoes scraped the stone. "Jesus, Dane. I was joking. You said yourself she's—"

"I know what I said."

Nobody moved. The music kept playing, some soft jazz song nobody was listening to anymore. The fire pits crackled. A woman by the door covered her mouth with her hand.

I rubbed my wrist. Four red marks were already rising on my skin.

Dane let go. Braden slid down the railing, coughing. Dane didn't look at him again. He turned, took my arm above the elbow, and walked.

I didn't fight him. Not there. Not in front of them.

The black SUV was waiting at the curb. Rain had started. Small, cold drops. He opened the back door and put me inside like a package. Then he climbed in after me.

"Home," he told the driver.

He didn't speak the whole ride. His knee bounced. His knuckles were split open on the right hand. I watched the blood dry in the creases while the city slid past the window, blurry and gold.

*You let them laugh,* I thought. *For forty minutes, you let them laugh.*

The private elevator was mirrored on all sides. There were a hundred of us in there. A hundred of him, still holding my arm.

The doors closed. The car began to rise.

I pulled my arm free. It took one clean tug. He let it go easier than I expected.

"You don't want me," I said quietly. "But you can't stand anyone else wanting me either." I looked at his reflection, not at him. "That must be exhausting, Dane."

His mouth opened. Nothing came out.

His right hand rose. It pressed flat against his chest, hard, right over the scar. His fingers spread like he was holding something in.

I watched that hand. I always watched that hand.

The doors opened. White lilies hit me like a wall. Lainey's voice floated from the living room. "Baby? Is that you?"

Dane didn't answer her. He didn't answer me either. He just stood there in the elevator while I walked out alone.

---

Julian's office was on the forty-second floor of a building on Park. At seven on Saturday morning, it was empty except for us and a pot of bad coffee.

He spread the folders across the conference table. Five of them. Each one was bound in navy blue.

"Voting rights," he said, tapping the first. "The Brennan trust transferred its proxies at midnight. You're not at fifty-one anymore."

"Where am I?"

"Fifty-three."

I let that number sit in my mouth for a second. Fifty-three. Not a majority by a hair. A majority by a wall.

"And the test?"

He slid the second folder over. "Ninety-nine point nine percent. Notarized. Chain of custody signed by two physicians and a court-certified courier. His DNA came from the glass he left at the Halverson dinner. Perfectly legal." He paused. "He can scream. He can't argue."

I touched the edge of the page. Just one finger. *Yours,* I had told him. *I expect you to count.*

"Table placement," I said.

"Table four. Twelve feet from the podium. Clear sight line to Eleanor." He raised an eyebrow. "The event planner thinks you're a Swiss investor named S. Mitchell."

"That's not a lie."

"No," he said. "It isn't."

We went through the board next. Three independent directors. Harold Finch. Margaret Osei. Leon Strauss. Julian had called each of them on Thursday.

"Finch is in," he said. "Osei wants to see the numbers in person. Strauss asked one question."

"What question?"

"Whether you'd keep Dane on as CEO."

I looked out the window. Rain streaked the glass. Below us, umbrellas bloomed on the sidewalk like black flowers.

"What did you tell him?"

"That it depends on Dane."

"Good."

Then we rehearsed.

Julian sat across from me with a legal pad. He played Eleanor. He played Dane. He even played Lainey, which made him wince.

"She'll cry," I said. "Thirty seconds after I start. Don't stop for it."

"And if Dane calls security?"

"Then he'll be calling my security." I folded my hands. "Again. From the top."

We went over it nine times. Every sentence. Every pause. Where I would stand. When I would hand Eleanor the first folder. When I would hand her the second. How many words I would say to Dane.

Sixteen. I counted.

At noon, Julian put down his pen. He studied me for a long moment.

"Can I ask you something I don't need to know?"

"You can ask."

"Why did you stay? Three years. You could have done this the first month."

I looked at my hands. At the place where a silver band used to be.

"Because of what he's carrying," I said.

Julian didn't push. He never did. But something passed over his face. Something careful. Like a man who heard a crack in the floor and wasn't sure where it came from.

My phone buzzed on the table. A 212 number I didn't recognize. I let it ring out.

It buzzed again. Same number.

I turned it face down.

"Whoever it is can wait until Monday," I said. "Tonight, I'm not going to a birthday party."

Julian closed the last folder.

"No," he agreed. "You're taking down a building."

I picked up the ivory garment bag and stood. Outside, the rain came harder.