by Lauren Layne
She precedes me into the living room, gesturing at the couch across from the chair she takes, as though welcoming me to her kingdom. As though I don’t live here. As though I hadn’t picked the throw pillow she’s arranging behind her back. As though I’m not sitting on the same couch where Colin sleeps. As though I’m not the one that folded his blankets and sheets this morning after he got called into an unexpected early meeting.
I see her gaze lock onto the folded bedding and pillow I haven’t yet bothered to put away, and I see the slightest flicker of relief cross her face. Yes, Rebecca. He sleeps on the couch.
Her eyes are slightly friendlier when they come back to me. Slightly.
“Look, Charlotte, I just wanted … well, to be honest, I wanted to apologize.”
“Oh. Wow, okay!” I say, doing a terrible job of hiding my surprise. “What for?”
There are so many things …
“I’ve been such a bitch to you,” she says with a smile that makes me realize how pretty she is. Makes me realize, maybe, what Colin sees in Rebecca. Her teeth are perfect. Maybe he’s a tooth-man. And I bet her hair never frizzes. I bet she never has to tame it into submission for various looks—I bet her hair only has one look: thick and shiny.
“It’s a difficult situation,” I say, defaulting to my favorite go-to line for anything having to do with this woman.
“Thank you for saying that,” she gushes. “It really is. I wish Colin understood that better. I mean, I’ve known since the beginning that you had this arrangement, but I guess it was just … it was much harder to see you in person. To know that he was living with you. And well, you’re not exactly a dog.”
She gives a tinkling laugh, and I force a smile. “It’s not a problem. I can’t imagine how weird this must be.”
Apology accepted. Are we done now?
“Very weird,” she says in agreement. “And I haven’t been handling it well. In fact, just the other day I made …” She sighs. “I’ve just been so frustrated, so freaked out, and I let Colin think …”
“That you wouldn’t move to Ireland with him?”
Her eyes turn to ice.
Oops. I’ve just let it slip that he confided in me about their relationship, and I’ll be really honest with you: I can’t say for certain I didn’t let it slip on purpose.
“He told you about that?” No sign of her perfect teeth now.
“Well, it’s just …” I wave my hand around the apartment, grasping for a way out of this conversation. “We share a space, and we tend to step on each other’s business a lot. It wasn’t a big deal. But things are better with you two now?” I ask, hoping to distract her.
She smiles again, but the gaze remains cold and hard. “Much better, thank you. In fact, you may as well be the first to know … it’s official!”
She thrusts out her left hand with a flourish, and … wow. Wow.
I’m really glad I’m sitting down, because I feel a little light-headed all of a sudden.
The ring on her fourth finger is massive. I don’t know how I missed it before, but there’s no avoiding its sparkle now, nor the way it seems to have sliced through my heart from three feet away.
“You finally went ring shopping,” I manage.
“Yes, finally,” she says, pulling her left hand back in to admire it. “I can’t wear it in public yet, obviously. We have to wait another month until …” She waggles her fingers over me. “You know. The divorce. And then we’ll probably wait a bit longer so as not to raise eyebrows. But at least when it’s just the two of us, I can wear this and know that he’s mine.”
I barely manage to hold back my laugh at the lack of subtlety. There it is. Her real motive for stopping by. To apologize, my ass. She’s here to remind me in no uncertain terms that Colin is hers, and she has the big-ass rock to prove it.
Well, sorry to steal your thunder, lady, but I’ve known he wasn’t mine long before he put that behemoth on your finger.
“Have you set a date yet?” I ask, not because I want to know, but because if I have any shot at remaining in Colin’s life after this is over, I’m going to have to at least try to make nice with this woman.
“No, we just want to enjoy being engaged,” she says in a dreamy voice, still ogling her own ring.
“Well, I’m really happy for you guys.”
A total lie, but I don’t feel bad about it, because I’m trying to be happy, and I’d like to think that counts for something.
“Thank you,” Rebecca says, standing. “I just wanted you to be the first to know, since … well, as you said—this whole thing is a difficult situation, and transparency will make it as painless for all of us as possible.”
“Yes, definitely,” I say, as we walk to the door. “I’m glad the end is in sight.”
“Me too. And between us girls,” she leans forward, conspiratorially, her left hand lifted to reveal her big ring and her crossed fingers, “fingers crossed that you two sail through that immigration interview tomorrow. I’ll do what I have to do for that man, but the idea of moving to Ireland.” She gives a drastic little shudder.
I’m all out of fake smiles now, so I open the front door with an icy coolness that would make my mother extremely proud. “I’ll let him know you stopped by.”
“Oh, don’t tell him,” she says breezily. “We swore we wouldn’t tell a single soul about the engagement being official. He’s just terrified about anyone catching wind of it and anything messing up the divorce process. I think he lives in constant fear you’ll change your mind and refuse to sign the papers or something.”
“Trust me. I’ll have no problem signing those,” I say with a cheerful smile. Oh look. I do have one more fake smile left. I paste it on as I calmly close the door in Rebecca’s face.
I turn around, intending to return to my stir-fry, but my legs don’t move. Instead, I lean back against the door, my breath coming in huge gulps as my eyes water. I lift my own left hand, looking at the antique flower ring. Older than hers. Less expensive.
Infinitely more perfect.
But given for a different reason than Rebecca’s. And it’s a crucial difference.
Rebecca’s words cycle on repeat in my head. I think he lives in constant fear you’ll change your mind and refuse to sign the papers.
I lose my battle with my tears, and I realize I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to do this anymore. But more than what I want for me is what I want for him.
It doesn’t occur to me until this very moment that this is what real love is about—wanting what’s best for the other person. Wanting their happiness above your own because you love them.
Like I love Colin.
I wipe my tears on the back of my hand and go to the kitchen, picking my cell phone up off the counter.
I call my brother.
He doesn’t pick up, but I don’t expect him to since it’s six hours ahead and I’m sure he’s in bed.
Normally I’d just text, but there are some things better said aloud. I wait patiently through his nonsense voice mail recording, wait for the beep. And leave a message.
“Hey Justin, it’s your favorite sister. Call me back as soon as you get this. I need some legal advice. It’s about that stupid prenup agreement …”
CHAPTER 36
WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 4
I’m wiping down the kitchen counters when Colin gets home a couple of hours later.
“Hey,” he says, coming into the kitchen. “The scene of the crime must have been worse than usual tonight. It’s nearly ten o’clock and you’re still cleaning.”
“Stir-fry. Lots of chopping.”
“Did you eat any of it?” He glances down at two generous Tupperware containers I have yet to lid and put in the fridge.
“It made more than I expected.” And no, I didn’t eat any of it. Your fiancée and her big ass ring stole my appetite. “Help yourself.”
“Already ate, but I’ll take some for lunch tomorrow if it’s up for grabs.”
&nb
sp; I make an all yours gesture at the Tupperware and swipe the rest of the crumbs into the sink.
I feel him watching me. “You all right?”
“Yeah. A little tired, and a headache that came out of nowhere.”
“Stressed about the interview tomorrow?”
“Oh, you mean where one wrong word can get you banished to Ireland and me put in jail? Nah. Cakewalk.”
I’m actually not that stressed about the final interview with Gordon Price tomorrow. I mean, I am. Of course I am. But not as much as you’d think. I’ve been a people person my entire life. I know how to read them, and I’m nearly always right. It’s why I’m so sure that Gordon Price doesn’t particularly care about Colin and me, beyond thinking Colin’s a bit of a sleaze for cheating on his new wife, and I’m a bit of an idiot for sticking around so long.
He thinks we’re guilty. Of being pathetic. Not of breaking the law.
But my excellent people-reading skills are also what have me feeling slightly queasy right now. Because just as I know Gordon Price is more or less harmless to Colin and me, I know that Rebecca is not so harmless.
And I know that no amount of me loving Colin gives me any right to stand in the way of him and Rebecca.
“All done!” I say brightly, putting the counter spray away and placing the Tupperware into the refrigerator. “Have a good night!”
I’m heading back toward my bedroom, but Colin steps in front of me, blocking my way.
I stop and look up at him. “What’s up?”
His gaze takes its time, seeming to study my every feature before he frowns. “I’m missing something.”
You’re missing a lot of somethings.
“I told you. A little tired, a little headache, a little stress. I just need a bubble bath and a good night’s sleep.”
“All right,” he murmurs. “All right.” And then he steps forward, his hands slipping around my waist and pulling me a little roughly against him.
A hug, I realize, after the jolt of awareness passes. Just kidding, it doesn’t pass. But other things mingle with awareness as he pulls me into an embrace that’s not quite sexual, but not quite platonic either. Want. Longing. Love.
Colin’s arms wrap all the way around my waist, and my arms lift of their own accord to fold behind his head. He lowers his head slowly until his face is tucked into my neck, his breath warm against my skin.
I don’t know what this is. It’s less than a kiss, but it’s also more than a hug, and for a moment something like anger splinters through me that he could be putting a ring on her finger one day, and holding me like this the next.
And though I know I should step back, the selfish part of me who knows my time with him is coming to a rapid end closes my eyes and pulls him closer.
I don’t know how long we stay locked together. Minutes. Hours. Days.
He pulls back slightly and I force my arms to release him, to let him go. But instead of backing away from me, Colin pauses with his mouth just inches from mine, his gaze reflecting my own longing back to me as his gaze drops to my lips.
“Charlotte.” It’s a whisper, a plea.
I can feel his breath on my lips, feel frustrated tension in his body. Our gazes collide and the unspoken yearning in his eyes echoes everything I’m feeling so intensely that I ache from the inside out.
And then I remember Rebecca. And her ring.
I step back, watching the yearning in his eyes flicker and fade away, replaced by his usual impassive expression. And I wonder if I’ve imagined the entire moment out of a pathetic need to pretend, just for a second, that this thing is mutual.
But regardless, it doesn’t matter. He’s made his choice.
“Night,” I whisper, sliding around him, careful not to make physical contact.
I stop before exiting the kitchen, realizing there’s something that I need to say. I know it’s selfish, but I say it anyway. “Colin.”
“Yes.” His voice is gravelly.
I don’t turn around as I talk—I’m not that brave. “I’d have gone with you. To Ireland. If things tomorrow went badly.”
I’d go anywhere with you.
He says nothing, and I flash him a quick smile over my shoulder to try and lighten the mood. “You know. Hypothetically.”
He doesn’t smile back, but I feel his thoughtful gaze on my back as I turn and head to the bedroom.
CHAPTER 37
THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 5
C olin’s gone the next morning before I wake up. I don’t see him until he comes home around two so we can share a cab to the Immigration Services office, but we don’t exchange a single word on the way there.
I don’t know if it’s because of the awkwardness of last night, because of the stress of the meeting to come, or if we’re simply too lost in our own thoughts. A little bit of everything, probably.
A different woman checks us in this time. She’s a lot less smiley than the last one, which I find oddly comforting. Her somber vibe suits my mood, and it suits this day.
“Who do you think will be first?” I ask Colin. I feel too jittery to read Vogue or any of the other glossy magazines this time.
“If it goes anything like last time, I’m hoping me,” he says.
“Why’s that?”
“I’m imagining you’ve got a hell of a grand finale up your sleeve.”
Oh, soon-to-be-ex-husband. You have no idea.
“Well, regardless of who goes first,” I say, “do you mind if I jet right after? I’ve got a couple of work things to take care of.”
Colin looks down, confused and maybe a little hurt. “Yeah. Sure.”
I know he wants to know why I’m not my usual upbeat self, but I don’t have an answer for him. Not one I want to share, anyway.
“Ms. Spencer. Mr. Walsh. It’s good to see you again,” Gordon Price says, opening the door. He’s holding a manila folder, and I don’t consider myself a fashionista or anything, but the fact that the folder matches his tan suit almost exactly is … unfortunate.
“Ms. Spencer, we’ll start with you. Come on back. Mr. Walsh, this should only take about twenty minutes or so.”
“Sure.”
I give Colin what I hope is a reassuring smile and follow Price down the fluorescent-lit hallway that I’m really hoping I’ll never have to see again after today.
He shows me into the same office. I sit in the same chair.
“Ms. Spencer, thanks for coming in. How are things?”
“Actually, not great.”
“That’s good—” He breaks off and looks up from the open folder, realizing his mistake.
I smile to put him at ease. “Let me guess. Most people say fine?”
He laughs. “Actually, yeah.”
“They’re probably terrified to let you think anything in their marriage is less than perfect.”
He closes the folder and tosses it aside, giving me a thoughtful look. “You do not share that fear.”
“Obviously not,” I say with a rueful smile. “I told you the first time we met that my husband had been seeing another woman.”
“Yes. And that you two were trying to work through it.”
“We were. But Mr. Price, can I be blunt?”
“Of course.”
I take a deep breath. “Half of all marriages end in divorce. People drift apart. Cheat. Want different things. Couples in which one person is born in another country aren’t exempt from any of that.”
He nods slowly. “Go on.”
“Colin and I have gotten closer since I’ve moved back from California. We’ve made significant progress. We’ve been kind to each other, respected each other, but Mr. Price, this is the part where I need to be frank … no amount of trying is going to make my husband love me again.”
The addition of “again” is a tiny white lie, but I press forward.
“Our current situation has nothing to do with the fact that Colin’s from Ireland. This is about emotion, not citizenship. And the brutal truth is that my
husband loves someone else. And I can’t change that, no matter how much I might want to.”
Mr. Price blows out a long breath. “Ms. Spencer, your candor is noted, but I’m not entirely sure what it is you think I can do with that information.”
“Nothing,” I clarify quickly. “Nothing at all. But I wouldn’t feel good leaving here today without telling you the truth: my husband and I plan to get divorced. Soon.”
Price picks up his folder again and flips through it absently without really reading it. “This is … unusual.”
“I know, but I’ve been thinking through this whole process. Back when we got married, we went through these same types of interviews. The aim then, and I think now, is to prove that it was a marriage based on love, not the acquisition of a green card? Correct?”
He nods. “Yes. We want to ensure that a couple is married for the right reason.”
I take a deep breath, ready to deliver my grand finale, as Colin had put it.
I lean forward. “I know I said that Colin doesn’t love me, and I meant that. I can’t change that fact, and trust me, I have tried. But Mr. Price, if you want to know if this is a love match, I can tell you at least that I love my husband. I love Colin.” I reach down and take a document out of my bag. “And I can prove it.”
CHAPTER 38
FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 13
SAN FRANCISCO
“I still can’t believe you’re not coming back,” Kurt says. “It’s not right. Nothing about this is right.”
Lewis squeezes his husband’s shoulder as he comes to top off our Sauvignon blanc. “We talked about this, Kurt. It is right. You’re just sulking.”
Kurt pouts as he looks at me. “Okay, fine. I confess, this whole situation does have a certain appealing symmetry to it. But I don’t like it.”
“Not even my corner office, which you now get to keep?” I say, nudging his calf with the tip of my Tory Burch flat. “Hmmm?”
He gives a sassy little wiggle in his chair. “Well, okay, that part’s okay.”
