My Fiancé Forced Me to Apologize to His Mistress

I held the garment bag against my hip and smiled at the thought of Joaquin's face when he opened it. Brooks Brothers. Custom tailoring. The dark blue shirt with the subtle herringbone weave he'd mentioned wanting three months ago. I remembered everything he said. I always did.

Fifth Avenue was bright and cold. The kind of October afternoon that made the city look like it was posing for postcards. I walked past Tiffany's without looking at the windows. We'd been inside once, two years ago, when Joaquin promised me a ring with our initials engraved where no one else could see them. J.R. & C.P. A secret between us and the metal.

The suit boutique was just ahead. Joaquin had mentioned stopping by today for a final fitting. I thought I'd leave the shirt with the staff. A surprise for later. Maybe tonight we'd finally talk about the engagement party without him changing the subject.

I pushed through the door. The air inside smelled like wool and expensive leather. A sales associate glanced up, but I waved her off and moved toward the back where the private fitting rooms were.

That's when I saw them.

Joaquin stood behind a woman with long dark hair. His hands were at her throat. Not violently. Slowly. Carefully. The way you touch something fragile. He was fastening a necklace, his fingers working the clasp with the same unhurried precision I'd seen a hundred times before. The same way he used to fasten mine.

The woman turned her head slightly and laughed. Kennedi Carlson. Professor Carlson's daughter. The girl Joaquin had been "helping through her grief" for the past eight months.

I stood there holding the garment bag. My hand went numb around the hanger.

Joaquin said something I couldn't hear. Kennedi tilted her chin up and smiled. Then she lifted her left hand to touch the necklace, and that's when I saw it.

The ring.

Emerald-cut diamond. Platinum band. The exact ring Joaquin had shown me in the Tiffany catalog two years ago. The one he said was being resized. The one that was supposed to have our initials inside.

It sat on Kennedi's finger like it had always belonged there.

I set the garment bag on the nearest counter. My hands were steady. I didn't cry. I didn't make a sound. I just walked out.

Fifth Avenue looked the same. Bright. Cold. Posing.

I stood on the sidewalk and pressed my thumb hard against the inside of my left ring finger. The spot where a ring should have been. Where I'd been telling myself a ring would be, once Joaquin stopped postponing, once he finished helping Kennedi, once things settled down.

A cab stopped when I raised my hand. I got in and gave the driver our address. The whole ride home, I kept pressing my thumb into that empty space until it hurt.

---

Joaquin came home just after eight. He set his keys in the bowl by the door and smiled when he saw me on the couch.

"Hey," he said. "Long day. You eat yet?"

I looked at him. "I saw you today."

His smile didn't move. "Yeah? Where?"

"The boutique. With Kennedi."

He exhaled and sat down across from me. Not beside me. Across. "Celeste—"

"She was wearing the ring."

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. The posture of a man preparing to be reasonable. "It's not what you think."

"Then tell me what it is."

"Professor Carlson asked me to look after her. You know that. He was dying, and he asked me to make sure she didn't fall apart. She's fragile right now. The ring—" He paused. Straightened his cufflinks. "It's temporary. Just something to help her feel stable. It doesn't mean anything."

"It was supposed to be mine."

"And it will be. When the time is right."

"When is that, Joaquin? We've postponed the engagement party three times."

His jaw tightened. "I have obligations. You of all people should understand what it means to owe someone your life."

The words hit exactly where he aimed them. The old wound. The one he'd healed once. The one that made me feel like I owed him everything.

I swallowed. Looked down at my hands.

"I'm not overreacting," I said quietly.

"I didn't say you were."

But his tone said it. His posture said it. The way he was already standing up, already moving toward the kitchen, already done with the conversation.

That night I lay beside him in the dark. My hand pressed flat against my sternum. I could feel my heartbeat under my palm. Steady. Still there.

I didn't sleep.

---

The next morning, Joaquin left early for a meeting. I waited until nine, then called his assistant.

"Hi, Rachel. It's Celeste. I just wanted to check on the engagement party rescheduling. Do we have a new date yet?"

Silence.

"Rachel?"

"Um." Her voice was careful. "Mr. Reed sent a postponement notice to the venue yesterday. He said there was a family situation that needed immediate attention."

My throat tightened. "Whose family?"

More silence.

"Rachel."

"I'm sorry, Celeste. I really am."

She hung up.

I sat at the kitchen table. My coffee went cold in front of me. I didn't move to reheat it. I just sat there, staring at the empty ring finger on my left hand, and tried to remember the last time Joaquin had chosen me over anything else.

I couldn't.