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I accept a third glass of champagne, because honestly, why not? It’s delicious and distracting. Truly the only thing making this entire ordeal bearable.
“Jeez, is this what dinner parties are like when I’m not here?”
We all glance up in unison to see a new arrival standing at the threshold of the dining room, a man I immediately recognize as Walt’s younger brother.
Just like with Walt, I’ve been around Matthew Jennings at family gatherings a few times over the years. The two of them look so much alike I doubt anyone here could say whether one is more handsome than the other, though there are clear differences: Matthew’s hair is a lighter shade of brown, and he styles it in a more easygoing manner than Walt does. He wears glasses too, a brown pair that only seem to add to his charm. He has deep-set dimples, a feature I’m not sure Walt shares because…well, I’ve never seen Walt smile big enough to show them.
Matthew walks further into the room, greeting people as he passes them by, clapping a few of the men on the shoulder. It’s clear he’s quite familiar with everyone except for me.
He stops just short of the chair I’m sitting in, cocks his head to the side a bit, and smiles.
“Elizabeth Brighton. My brother’s bride.”
Eleven
Without worrying about the pre-planned seating arrangement, Matthew grabs the back of Walt’s empty chair and tugs it out far enough to steal it. He sits down with an air of confidence I wish I could mimic, and then he scoots his chair closer to mine.
“Where’s Walt?” he says, glancing around the table.
“With Camila,” I reply before anyone else can. It feels like I’m stealing back some of the power I’ve lost throughout the evening. By saying her name aloud, by holding my chin up high as I announce to the room that my husband is currently speaking privately with his girlfriend, it’s as if I’m saying, I don’t care one bit.
“Ah.” He nods in understanding just as a waiter appears from the kitchen with a dinner plate and a full glass of wine for Matthew.
He thanks them and unfolds the new set of cutlery.
“Sorry I’m late,” he says to the table before turning back to me. “I got held up after class.”
“Class?”
“I’m an associate professor of photography at NYU.”
My jaw drops. How did I not know that?
“Are you really? I just graduated with my MFA from RISD.”
He smiles and nods. “I heard. Congratulations.” He must read the confusion on my face because he continues, “Walt told me.”
The party planner steps into the doorway of the dining room and declares that desserts and drinks will be served in the great room. Then her gaze falls on Matthew, and she blanches.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I wasn’t informed a guest was still eating,” she says, clearly embarrassed by her blunder.
Matthew waves his hand. “No. Don’t worry on my account. You all go ahead. I eat fast.”
“I’ll stay with you,” I say, wanting to ensure he won’t have to eat alone.
That seems to convince the others that it’s okay to stand and leave the table. They filter out as Matthew and I stay seated. He eats and I sip my champagne until we’re the only two left in the dining room.
“I take it Camila had a hard time tonight?” he asks gently, as if he’s testing the waters.
I smile, glad he seems to be interested in dropping the pretense between us.
“Yes. Something about having to be confronted by her boyfriend’s fake wife just really didn’t sit well with her.”
Matthew laughs hard, obviously taken aback by my candor.
I shrug to let him know there are no hard feelings.
“It’s such an odd arrangement,” I continue.
“I tried to talk Walt out of it,” he admits with a rueful smile. “But he’s impossible to sway once he’s made up his mind.”
“You know it wasn’t purely for his sake. The marriage, I mean—it helped my family too.”
Matthew nods in understanding. “I don’t know the full story, but I understand your parents were in dire straits.”
“That’s a polite way of saying it, but yes, they had spent recklessly for years and it finally caught up to them.”
“Did you know?”
“Not an inkling until the night before I married Walt.”
Matthew’s eyes widen. “And you agreed that quickly?”
“What choice did I have?”
He looks at me almost like he’s frustrated by my reply.
“It’s my family,” I say, defending myself.
Matthew picks up his wine glass and drinks deep.
“Are you extremely close with them then?”
“Not very. No.”
He shoots me a look of pure frustration.
“But it helps me too,” I add, to make him understand. “I didn’t know it at the time, but apparently it’s hard to lease an apartment on your own when you’re technically unemployed. I think Walt will cosign on a place for me soon. So see? I’m not completely selfless.”
