I Was Never His Real Wife

I nodded and went to shower alone.

When I came out, Cecil was already back, slumped drunk against the couch.

He saw me and pulled me hard into his arms, his voice rough and unsteady. "Happy third anniversary."

His kiss was fiercer than it had ever been.

It took, and it left nothing of me behind.

His tie was wound across my eyes, and on that tie I caught—

a faint trace of perfume that wasn't mine.

"Cecil, not here."

He pressed me into the wall. The wall was cold, and the chill seeped slowly into my back.

I watched him, clear-headed.

Something about Cecil tonight was just wrong.

In this we had always kept to the rules.

Against a wall was a first.

Maybe it was the drink.

That was how I soothed myself.

In the night, Cecil drifted off, but I couldn't sleep, so I stepped out alone for air.

The moment I was through the door, I ran into Leah Sullivan.

She'd come out of the room next door.

She looked at me, her gaze cool and clear.

When I saw her, I went still too, just for a beat.

So the other side of that wall was Leah's room.

I stood alone on the rooftop, letting the wind move through me.

I kept feeling that something between us was quietly slipping away.

The rooftop was pitch dark, which made the streetlamps below stand out all the sharper.

Cecil and Leah came from two different directions.

Catching sight of each other, they both froze for a moment.

The two of them stood a few yards apart, facing each other.

I wanted to hear something. I was afraid of hearing something.

So I just sat there, still.

The two of them stood there just as still, looking at each other.

A full twenty minutes, and not half a word.

I drew a deep breath and felt like I was burning up from the inside.

That delicate, silent air killed me first—the outsider.

"I'm going to find your aunt."

Cecil spoke first and brushed quickly past the person in front of him.

Leah lifted her chin, drew a breath, and said, "I'll be bringing my boyfriend home tomorrow."

She turned away, unbothered, and Cecil gave her only his back.

"You've got her anniversary to make up for tomorrow. No need to come."

He answered flat, one word. "Fine."

Once we were back, Cecil quickly went quiet.

But I knew he wasn't asleep.

With Leah home, our anniversary was pushed back a day.

Cecil had always said the third anniversary was an enormously important day.

That he had to throw me a grand party.

Building this island alone had taken three years.

Every guest who arrived was a person of standing.

The flowing-silk gown I wore was thirty million.

Every detail of the party he had shaped with his own hands.

I wanted to lose myself in the happiness too, but Cecil stayed apart from it, in a corner, staring at his phone.

When I came over, he calmly put it away.

In that single instant I saw it. On the screen was a photo of Leah and a man.

"Daisy, happy third anniversary."

He took my hand, smiling, and under bank after bank of spotlights he told the room every small piece of our three years.

Three years of overwhelming love had made everyone forget the awkward history between him and the eldest Sullivan daughter.

I couldn't blame them.

I'd nearly forgotten it myself.

On the rare occasion I heard it brought up, I treated it as a joke.

But after seeing Leah, the love I had been so certain of was crumbling.

"Cecil is so good to his wife. You all should have seen it—he came in on the yacht at the crack of dawn and saw to everything himself, terrified anything would go wrong. His wife must be a wonderful person."