He looked at me and spoke, enunciating every word: "Veronica, I have never wronged you. If I owe anyone, it's Beryl. I couldn't give her a proper title. She spent the best years of her life following me with nothing to show for it." "I was going to let you keep your dignity. But you had to make a scene and turn everything ugly." He turned around, dropped to one knee, and pulled an enormous diamond ring from his pocket. His eyes were soft, his voice tender as he gazed up at Beryl. "Beryl, I blame myself for not finding you sooner." "I can't give you a legal title in this lifetime, but I want to give you the grandest wedding there is. I want the whole world to know that you are the one I love." Beryl covered her mouth with both hands, eyes glistening. But she turned her head away, her voice small and forlorn: "I can't say yes. I love you, so I was willing to swallow my pride and be your mistress. But I won't let the whole world know I'm your mistress." "Unless..." She turned to look at me. "Unless Mrs. Sanchez officiates for us. Unless she stands in front of everyone and admits that the unloved one is the real homewrecker. That she is the third wheel." I met the venom in the young woman's eyes without expression. Dennis watched me say nothing, then spoke, his voice like a blade on ice: "Vee, don't forget. Your parents' ashes are still buried in the cemetery plot I paid for." "You wouldn't want them to end up like this apartment... would you?" Something inside my chest tore loose, as if a knife had carved out a chunk of living flesh. Even the air I breathed tasted like blood. I nodded, slowly. "Fine. I'll do it." Beryl's tears vanished into a radiant smile, and she threw herself into Dennis's arms. He took her to pick out a wedding gown and book a venue. On his way out, he paused at the door. For once, his tone was almost civil: "Veronica, it's just a wedding. It won't change your position as Mrs. Sanchez." My voice was level. "Okay." He studied me for a long moment, and a smile finally broke across his face. "You won't need to look after Beryl for a while. Just rest at the hospital. Once the baby's born, the three of us will take a trip together, you, me, and the child. Consider it my way of making it up to you." I said okay again, just as calmly. Only then did Dennis leave, satisfied.
On the day of the wedding, Dennis was so afraid I'd cause a scene that he had the bodyguards escort me to the dressing room early and keep watch over me.
Beryl pouted and said her gown was too heavy for her to put on her own shoes.
"Mrs. Sanchez, would you help me?"
Dennis frowned slightly and glanced at me on instinct.
I lowered my eyes, crouched down, lifted the hem of her gown, and slipped the shoes onto her feet.
Dennis stared at me with something unreadable on his face. His lips pressed together as if he wanted to speak, but Beryl nudged him.
"Babe, I'm thirsty. Could you go grab me some orange juice?"
He smiled at that, ruffled her hair, and turned to walk out the door.
The second he was gone, Beryl's foot slammed into my chest.
She looked down at me, lip curled in contempt.
"Veronica, you don't actually think I'm some kept little trophy who latched onto a rich man, do you?"
"You probably had no idea. Dennis and I have been together for almost ten years."
She saw the shock in my eyes and her smile turned poisonous.
"He said I was too young to suffer alongside him. So he dated me and married you."
"He was so worried about shortchanging me that the very first paycheck he earned, he told you debt collectors took it. The truth? He bought me a designer handbag. Every single time I felt the slightest bit wronged, he'd send people to your door to stage those debt-collection scenes, shake you down, and funnel every last dollar to me for more bags."
