Chapter 3 - The Dance He Finally Refused
Mallory tried again fifteen minutes later.
She came to my table with two glasses of champagne.
“I brought you one.”
“I have water.”
“Grant, please.”
“I’m okay.”
She lowered her voice.
“People are noticing.”
That sentence settled everything.
Not I’m hurting.
Not can we talk.
People are noticing.
“Are they?”
“You know they are.”
She sat beside me.
“Can you just act normal for one evening?”
I turned toward her.
“Normal?”
“Yes.”
“Define normal.”
Her mouth tightened.
“This.”
She gestured around the room.
“Supporting each other. Being a team.”
I stared at her.
“Interesting.”
“What’s interesting?”
“You remembered those words.”
She stood.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“No.”
“You are.”
“I’m not enjoying any of it.”
“Then stop.”
“I did.”
She looked confused.
“I stopped pretending.”
Before she could answer, an announcement called everyone toward the stage.
The company president began thanking departments for the year’s results.
Cameras moved through the room taking photographs.
Mallory stood beside me.
Halfway through the speech, she reached for my hand.
I knew exactly why.
A photographer was ten feet away.
Her fingertips touched mine.
I moved my hand to straighten my cuff.
Her jaw flexed.
“You’re embarrassing me,” she whispered.
I kept looking toward the stage.
“That’s interesting.”
“Grant.”
“I wonder what embarrassment feels like compared to lying awake next to someone who acts like your touch is a burden.”
Her breath caught.
“This is not the time.”
“It never is.”
The photographer passed.
Mallory folded her hands in front of herself.
For the first time that evening, she looked small.
I almost felt guilty.
Then my mind returned to the message.
Survived another dinner at home?
And the guilt passed.
Mallory’s department received an award shortly before nine.
She walked onto the stage beside Evan and four other people.
Watching them together hurt more than I expected.
Not because they touched.
They didn’t.
Not because they flirted.
They were careful.
It was something subtler.
Ease.
When Evan whispered something to her, Mallory smiled without effort.
The exact expression I’d spent half a year trying to recover.
Then she saw me watching.
The smile vanished.
After the ceremony, she returned to our table.
Several coworkers applauded.
Mallory leaned down to kiss my cheek.
I moved my head just enough that her lips met air.
A few people noticed.
Her eyes flashed.
She sat beside me.
“What do you want from me?”
Her voice was barely audible.
“The same thing you’ve been giving me.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
She flinched.
“You’re acting like a child.”
“And you’ve been acting like a single woman who happens to share a mortgage.”
Her eyes widened.
“Keep your voice down.”
A woman named Brooke Emerson approached before Mallory could continue.
Brooke worked in finance and had met me several times.
“You two still make marriage look annoyingly easy,” she said, smiling. “How long now?”
“Twelve years,” I answered.
Mallory smiled too quickly.
“Twelve wonderful years.”
I looked at her.
“Recently we’ve mostly been living in different emotional time zones.”
Brooke’s smile faltered.
Mallory laughed.
“He’s kidding.”
“Am I?”
“Grant.”
I looked at Brooke.
“When was the last time we had dinner without her texting somebody from work?”
Brooke suddenly became fascinated by something across the room.
“I should go find Tom.”
She escaped.
Mallory waited until she was out of earshot.
“Enough.”
I took a sip of water.
“Truth makes you uncomfortable tonight.”
She grabbed my forearm.
“We’re going outside.”
The terrace overlooked the harbor.
Cold March air cut through my jacket.
Mallory rounded on me the second the doors closed.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
I almost laughed.
“That’s your opening question?”
“You’re deliberately humiliating me.”
“No. I’m refusing to help you lie.”
“About what?”
“Us.”
“We’re married.”
“Technically.”
Her face changed.
“Don’t say that.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s cruel.”
“Is it inaccurate?”
She folded her arms.
“I’ve been under enormous pressure.”
“Then tell me.”
“I have told you.”
“No, Mallory. You give me schedules. Complaints. Headlines.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“You tell me the client changed the deadline. You tell me your boss is impossible. You tell me you’re working late.”
I stepped closer.
“But you tell Evan how you feel.”
Her face went pale.
“There’s nothing happening with Evan.”
“I didn’t say you were sleeping with him.”
“Then what are you accusing me of?”
“Giving another man the part of you that used to belong inside our marriage.”
She stared at me.
“You sound insane.”
“Do I?”
“He’s my friend.”
“You hide conversations with him.”
“I don’t hide anything.”
“You turn your phone over when I enter the room.”
“Because you’ve become suspicious of everything.”
“You started taking calls upstairs.”
“Because you interrupt.”
“You smile at his messages in bed while refusing to touch me.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“Stop.”
My voice wasn’t loud.
It didn’t need to be.
She fell silent.
“Just stop making me explain things you already understand.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
I hated that part of myself still wanted to comfort her.
“You think I wanted this?” I asked. “You think I enjoyed becoming the jealous husband checking the clock when his wife comes home?”
“I’m not cheating.”
“Maybe not physically.”
She looked away.
That was enough.
I felt something inside me crack cleanly.
“How far did it go?”
“It didn’t.”
“How far?”
She swallowed.
“We talked.”
“About us?”
Silence.
“About me?”
“Sometimes.”
“What did you tell him?”
She pressed her lips together.
I waited.
Finally she whispered, “That we’d become disconnected.”
I laughed once.
No humor in it.
“That’s incredible.”
“What?”
“You disconnected from me and then used the disconnection as the reason to connect with him.”
Her shoulders dropped.
“That’s not fair.”
“No. It isn’t.”
She wiped a tear from beneath one eye.
“He listened to me.”
The words hurt more than they should have.
“I listened.”
“You tried to fix everything.”
“I’m your husband.”
“Exactly!”
Her voice rose for the first time.
Then she stopped, startled by herself.
I stared at her.
She looked toward the harbor.
“When I complained, you always had a solution. Call this person. Do that. Quit if you’re unhappy. Take a week off.”
Her voice cracked.
“Evan just listened.”
I absorbed that.
There it was.
Not an excuse.
But a truth.
“And instead of telling me you needed something different from me, you punished me for not knowing.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“No. You just stopped coming toward me.”
She cried silently now.
I felt angry.
And sad.
And exhausted enough to understand that two people could both be wounded without both being equally innocent.
“You wanted distance,” I said. “Tonight I’m respecting it.”
“This isn’t respect.”
“It is when distance is what you’ve chosen for six months.”
She hugged herself.
“You’re being cruel.”
I shook my head.
“Cruel would be smiling for photographs tonight and going home to another month of pretending.”
Through the glass doors, I saw Evan watching us.
Mallory followed my eyes.
The moment she saw him, she stepped back from me.
Not toward him.
Just away from being seen.
That small instinct told me everything.
“Go back inside,” I said.
May you like
“Grant—”
“Your audience is waiting.”
