“It's less important than a potential eight-figure investment.” He finally looks at me, expression cold. “This is how it works, Kori. I make the money, you make my life easier. That was the arrangement.”
He opens the fridge and surveys the contents. “Where’s my protein shake?”
“Second shelf, right side,” I answered, forcing my voice steady. “The green one, like you asked.”
He grabs it, sips, and frowns. “Too much spinach. Tastes like dirt.”
“It’s the exact recipe your nutritionist—”
“Don’t argue with me.” He sets the shake beside my strawberries. “I have the Westlake presentation today. Thirty people are watching me, hanging on my every word, while you do what? Rearrange the flowers? Or go shopping again?”
I grip the cool marble of the counter. Four coming up on five years of marriage, and every conversation still feels like walking a minefield. Despite wanting to throw it in his face that he was the one who told me to quit my job, I changed the subject.
“Lana is helping me decorate the hall for our anniversary party this weekend,” I whisper.
“Right, well, don’t keep her too long—I need her for later,” Mark waves dismissively, checking hislimited-edition Rolex. “Make sure you wear the blue Dior tonight. The Chambers will be at Morton’s, and Catherine always comments on how that dress almost makes you look like the models I could have married.”
With a heavy sigh, I head upstairs to shower.
∞∞∞
“Kori, does this look right to you?”
I glance up from the lilies I’m arranging to find my sister Lana watching me, just as my phone buzzes against my thigh.
I ignore it and look to see that she’s pinching two swatches of ivory satin at the table’s edge, attempting to create a skirt effect. The fabric bunches awkwardly where they meet, creating an unsightly ridge. I wrinkle my nose. “The seam’s too obvious. What if we disguised it with some baby’s breath or those small daisies?”
My phone buzzes again, more insistent this time.
“That’s brilliant,” Lana says, beaming at my suggestion. “You always know how to fix things.”
The buzzing continues. “Sorry, let me just check this. Mark might need something for tonight.” I fish the phone from my pocket, swiping to unlock it.
My world stops. My lungs forget how to work.
On the screen is a photo from our elderly next-door neighbor, Mrs. Spencer. Mark has his hands tangled in dark hair. Lana’s hair. Their lips are locked together, his body pressing hers against our kitchen counter. The timestamp shows it’s from three days ago, when I was shopping for party supplies.
“Kori? What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Lana’s voice sounds distant, as if I’m underwater.
I stare at her, this woman arranging flowers for my fifth anniversary party, this sister who just hours ago helped me pick out the dress I’d wear tonight. The same lips that are pressed against my husband’s in this photo are now curved in concern.
“How could you?” My voice is barely a whisper as I turn the phone screen toward her.
Her face drains of color. “I can explain—”
“Explain what? That while I’ve been planning this party for months, you’ve been sleeping with my husband?” My voice rises with each word until I’m nearly shouting.
“It’s not what it looks like,” she stammers, reaching for me.
I step back, knocking over a vase of lilies. Water pools across the tablecloth, soaking into the ivory satin she was arranging. “Don’t touch me.”
My mind flashes to our wedding day, how Mark’seyes had lingered a little too long on one of my bridesmaids. I’d convinced myself it was nothing, that he’d chosen me. I knew he noticed other women—I wasn’t naive—but this? My own sister?
“Was it just once?” I ask, though I already know the answer from the easy familiarity in their embrace.
Lana’s silence tells me everything.
“I trusted you,” I say, grabbing my purse. “Both of you.”
