He cut me off. A flicker of irritation crossed his eyes—maybe something else too, but I couldn't read it.
"Naomi, don't kid yourself with fantasies. You know better than I do why this marriage exists."
Yes. I knew.
Because of Old Mr. Gilbert's orders. Because of the Swanson family's financial ruin. The one reason it didn't exist was because Elijah Gilbert wanted to marry me.
The wedding was lavish. The whole city watched.
I held Elijah's arm, walked down the aisle, accepted congratulations, and smiled a smile so stiff it ached.
During the toasts, he leaned close. His warm breath grazed my ear.
"Make it convincing. Don't embarrass the Gilbert name."
That night, he slept in the guest room.
Every night after that was the same.
At first, I still tried. I clumsily taught myself to make soup, cooked meals tailored to his taste, and waited up past midnight.
He rarely came home to eat. On the rare occasions he did, he'd glance at the table of cold dishes and frown.
"Stop doing this. We have staff for a reason."
Then Cara Fox's name started coming up. Again and again.
She was Elijah's college sweetheart, the one seared into his heart like a scar that never faded. Her family had lost everything years ago, forcing them apart, and she'd gone overseas.
Now she was back.
Elijah got busier. Came home later. Sometimes carried the faint trace of an unfamiliar perfume.
I noticed. But I didn't dare ask.
All I did was leave the small wall sconce in the living room on every night he came home late.
On my birthday, I spent a long time working up the nerve. I sent him a message asking if he could have dinner with me that evening. For once, his reply came fast: "Sure."
I started preparing that afternoon, cooking dishes I thought he might like.
By nine, the food had gone cold. I reheated it. It went cold again.
At eleven, he called. The background was noisy. "Cara's stomach is acting up. I'm at the hospital. Just eat without me."
I sat down slowly, phone still in my hand, staring at the carefully plated dishes on the table. I picked up my chopsticks and ate every last bite.
I ate until my stomach turned.
The next day, he came home. He saw the spotless dining table and asked offhandedly, "How'd you spend your birthday?"
"Went out with friends." I kept my eyes down, adjusting the lilies in the vase. "Had a great time."
He gave a short "Mm," asked nothing more, and headed upstairs.
Right. He didn't even remember that I had no close friends to speak of.
The company's annual gala. As Mrs. Gilbert, my attendance was mandatory.
I wore a modest gown and sat beside him. He worked the room. I held my smile.
Then Cara arrived. She walked toward Elijah in a red dress, there as a representative of a partner firm.
"Elijah, aren't you going to introduce us?"
She was all smiles, her gaze settling on me with open appraisal.
Elijah paused for a beat. His tone was flat. "Naomi Swanson. My wife."
"So you're Mrs. Gilbert. I've heard so much about you."
Cara extended her hand. I reached out and shook it lightly. My fingertips were ice.
That night, Elijah danced the first dance with Cara.
I sat in the corner and watched the two of them glide across the floor, perfectly matched. Around me, glances drifted my way—some pitying, some amused, all accompanied by whispers just low enough to deny.
I watched in silence until the music ended, then stood and walked to the restroom.
The face in the mirror was pale. I took out my compact and touched up my makeup, carefully, precisely.
Late one night, my mother called. I was sorting documents Elijah needed for a business trip the next morning.
My hand jerked. Papers scattered across the floor.
I dialed his number with trembling fingers. The first call went unanswered.
The second was rejected.
