Chapter 2 - HIS ENGAGEMENT ANNOUNCEMENT ENDED IN PERFECT FRENCH
Adrian extended one hand.
Camille rose.
And my husband said, in flawless rehearsed French, "It is with great pride that I announce my engagement to Camille Devereaux."
The room erupted.
For several seconds, I thought I had misunderstood.
Not the language.
Reality.
Engagement.
My husband.
Another woman.
Adrian took Camille's hand.
He kissed her knuckles.
Applause thundered beneath the chandeliers.
His mother stood.
Camille's father embraced Adrian.
And I sat beside an empty chair wearing my wedding ring.
I remembered holding Adrian's hand through surgery four years earlier.
I remembered sleeping upright in a hospital chair for eleven nights.
I remembered cooking him soup when he could barely keep water down.
I remembered sitting on our bathroom floor after a pregnancy test showed only one line and Adrian told me we still had time.
I remembered every anniversary.
Every promise.
Every lie I had mistaken for protection.
Then Camille leaned toward Eleanor and said loudly in French, "Should someone translate for the poor wife? She looks completely lost."
Laughter moved through the nearest tables.
My fingers went numb.
I looked at Adrian.
For one desperate second, I waited for him to defend me.
Instead, he smiled faintly.
"Don't bother," he answered in French. "Isabella has always preferred staying away from complicated matters."
More laughter.
Something inside me became very calm.
That calm frightened me more than anger would have.
Because I understood then.
This wasn't merely betrayal.
It was entertainment.
He had chosen French because he believed I wouldn't understand.
He had seated me beside him because he expected me to smile politely while everyone who mattered watched my marriage being dismantled around me.
He had made my supposed stupidity part of the joke.
I slowly placed my glass down.
Nicholas Vale noticed first.
His face changed.
I stood.
Adrian frowned.
"Isabella?"
I smiled.
Then, in crisp Parisian French, I said, "Congratulations to you both. I hope your marriage gives you exactly the happiness you deserve."
The applause stopped so completely I heard ice settle inside someone's glass.
Camille froze.
Eleanor's mouth opened.
Adrian stared at me as though I had suddenly become someone else.
"Isabella," he whispered.
I turned to Camille.
"May I ask you one small question?"
Her lips parted.
"Of course."
"How are you planning to describe Adrian on the wedding invitations?"
No one moved.
"As a widower? A divorced man? Or simply as somebody else's husband?"
A guest near the fireplace coughed into his fist.
Camille went pale.
I continued in French.
"Because unless the law has recently changed, I remain very inconveniently alive."
"Enough," Adrian said in English.
His voice had changed.
Low.
Commanding.
The tone that made employees straighten and grown men stop talking.
Once, it frightened me.
That night, it only made me tired.
"Sit down."
I looked at the empty chair.
"No."
His jaw flexed.
"We'll discuss this privately."
"You announced your engagement publicly."
Several people shifted in their seats.
Adrian stepped closer.
"You're making a scene."
I actually laughed.
"A scene?"
My voice remained quiet.
"Your wife is sitting beside you while you announce your next marriage, and I'm embarrassing you?"
"Isabella."
"You should have asked what languages your wife speaks before choosing one to betray her in."
His face lost a little color.
Camille recovered first.
"You don't understand," she said in English. "This is a strategic arrangement."
"Then strategize around someone else's marriage."
"Families like ours have obligations."
I looked at her.
"Families like yours?"
"Important families."
There it was.
The contempt.
I reached up and unclasped the sapphire necklace Adrian had given me.
I laid it beside his champagne glass.
"Then you two should be perfect together."
Adrian's expression flickered.
For the first time that evening, I saw regret.
"Isabella, please."
"Did you know she would laugh at me?"
He said nothing.
“Did you tell her I couldn’t understand French?”
Silence.
That hurt more than the engagement.
Because silence was an answer.
May you like
I picked up my purse.
“Good night, Adrian.”
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