The receptionist's voice carried across the open-plan office like a stone dropped in still water.
"There's a Kennedi Carlson here to see you. She says she's looking for Joaquin's fiancée?"
I looked up from my laptop. The department meeting had just ended. Three colleagues were still gathering their notebooks. All of them turned to look at me.
I pressed save on the document I'd been editing and stood. My hands were steady. "I'll be right there."
Kennedi waited by the reception desk, holding a small bouquet of white roses. She wore a cream-colored sweater and jeans that probably cost more than my rent. When she saw me, she smiled. The kind of smile that looked warm in photographs.
"Celeste. I hope I'm not interrupting. I just wanted to drop these off." She held out the flowers. "A thank you. For being so understanding."
I didn't take them. "Understanding about what?"
Her smile didn't waver. "About Joaquin helping me. I know it's taken time away from you two. That must be hard."
Behind me, I heard the soft click of someone's phone camera. Or maybe I imagined it. Either way, I felt the weight of eyes.
"Let's talk in the break room," I said.
She followed me down the hall. Her heels made soft clicks on the tile. She still carried the roses.
The break room was empty. I closed the door and turned to face her.
"Why are you here, Kennedi?"
She set the flowers on the counter. Pulled out her phone. "I thought you should see these."
She held the screen toward me.
Photographs. A dozen of them. Kennedi and Joaquin at a restaurant, candles between them. Kennedi and Joaquin at what looked like a gallery opening, his hand at the small of her back. Kennedi and Joaquin on a wooden deck with a lake behind them, her head tilted against his shoulder.
I stared at the images. My chest felt tight, like someone had pulled a cord around my ribs.
"When were these taken?"
"The lake house was last weekend." She scrolled to another photo. "This one was two weeks ago. The night he bought me this necklace." She touched the pendant at her throat. The same one I'd watched him fasten in the boutique. "It's funny. That was the same night he called to tell me he was postponing your engagement party again. He said he needed to focus on me right now. That I needed him more."
I looked at her face. Her expression was soft. Sympathetic. Like she was delivering bad news she wished she didn't have to share.
"I just thought you deserved to know where you actually stand," she said quietly. "I mean, if I were in your position, I'd want someone to tell me the truth."
My hands curled into fists at my sides. "You don't know anything about my position."
"I know Joaquin hasn't set a new date for your party. I know he spends most of his evenings with me. I know—" She paused. Glanced down at her left hand. The ring caught the fluorescent light. "I know he gave me something that was supposed to be yours."
The air in the room felt thin. I couldn't get enough of it into my lungs.
"He's helping you because your father asked him to," I said. My voice sounded far away. "That's all this is."
Kennedi tilted her head. "Is that what he told you?"
She stepped closer. Close enough that I could smell her perfume. Something floral and expensive.
"My father died three months ago, Celeste. Whatever obligation Joaquin had, it ended then. Everything since—" She gestured at her phone. "That's been his choice."
I stared at her. The sympathy in her face was so practiced it looked almost real.
"You should go," I said.
She picked up the roses. Held them out again. "Please. Take them. I really do appreciate how gracious you've been about all this."
I didn't move.
She set the flowers on the counter between us. "I'll leave them here, then." She walked to the door. Paused with her hand on the handle. "Oh, and Celeste? Joaquin's taking me to the Carlyle tonight. For my birthday. I thought you should know, in case he tells you he's working late."
She left.
I stood in the break room. The white roses sat on the counter. Their smell was too sweet. It made my stomach turn.
I pulled out my phone. Opened my messages with Joaquin. The last text was from this morning. *Busy day. Don't wait up.*
I typed: *Are you taking Kennedi to the Carlyle tonight?*
I stared at the words. Deleted them. Typed again: *We need to talk.*
I sent it.
Then I walked back to my desk. My colleagues glanced up as I passed. No one said anything, but I felt their questions in the air between us.
I sat down. Opened my laptop. Stared at the screen until the words blurred.
My phone buzzed.
Joaquin: *Can it wait? Slammed today.*
I set the phone face-down on my desk. Pressed my thumb hard against the inside of my left ring finger until the pressure turned into pain.
It was the only thing I could feel that made sense.
