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"His voice. It was completely shattered, but ye
t so calm as he told me that Zara had drowned. She was swimming in the shallows and got caught by an unexpected undertow. She was there one minute and gone the next. And the whole time he was talking, all I could think was, 'Why is he calling me?' I mean, they knew each other.” He shrugs slightly, “but he was the last person who I would expect to be calling me with this news. She had been with her friend, Charlotte. So, the first thing I asked Will was how he knew. And that's when everything came out. He was with her. Charlotte was just a cover. He started crying and told me that he loved her. That they were in love with each other."
"Your best friend? And your fiancée?" I ask, unable to believe what I'm hearing.
"Yes. And everyone—at least a lot of friends—knew.”
"So, what happened?" I ask, then cringe apologetically when I hear the excitement in my voice. "Sorry, I just can't believe this."
"It's okay. It's been nearly two years since she died." He dismisses my apology with a casual wave of his hand. He shakes his head dejectedly. "They didn't even have to try hard to hide the affair from me. I had already started traveling a lot because of my family’s business. I didn't even think about taking her to the airport. I hadn't called her all week while she was away. He had loved her. He wanted her, but she was with me."
"I don't understand. If you didn't love her and she didn't love you, why in the world were you getting married?" I demand, not understanding any of this. He looks at me, and for the first time I see the same weariness in his eyes that I often see in my own. I put my arm on his shoulder and squeeze it. He smiles at my touch, his eyes grateful.
"I don't know. It was expected."
"Expected? Are you a prince or something?" I ask with a laugh.
"No, it's just that...I don't know. It’s complicated." He laughs at himself, but I can sense his reluctance to tell me more about his family. I decide not to push since I have plenty I don't want to share, either.
"So, what happened? Did you kick William's ass?" I prod.
"No, I haven't spoken to him since that phone call. He didn't come to the funeral. He moved away, and I haven't seen him since."
"Damn," is all I can manage. "That sounds like a soap opera."
"It felt like one. Her parents are still my parents’ neighbors. They lost a daughter. I don't think they knew about William, and if they did, no one's ever mentioned it. We all just tried to pick up the pieces left behind and move on."
I can't believe the story I'm hearing. But he's not done.
"I eventually told my brother and sister because they could tell something was wrong. My parents travel a lot. I don't see them as often, and I don't think they noticed."
"Oh, I get that," I say quietly.
He doesn't appear to have heard me, and he continues. "I was so fucking angry at her. At William. He accused me of so many things on that phone call, half of them I've forgotten. But some of them I'll never forget because they were true. I didn't love her. I didn't treat her like a priority, but I was going to marry her anyway."
He stands up suddenly, pacing back and forth in the small elevator, his anger making it feel smaller than it is.
"Yes, I was a shitty boyfriend and fiancé, but no one put a gun to her head when I asked her to marry me. She talked incessantly about what our lives would be like when we were married. It's not like I was off cheating on her with her fucking best friend. Why am I the villain?” he asks, but I know he’s not talking to me.
“I'd known her my whole life, but I realized after she died that I hadn't really known her at all. Her friends who spoke at her funeral told stories about her that I'd never heard. I didn't know that she loved to restore antiques. I had no clue that she hated the smell of coffee. I didn't know anything other than she was supposed to be my wife, she was pretty, and a decent lay."
I gasp, shocked at the crude words, but also because I understand that kind of loathing.
"Maybe I'm an asshole. But I'm not a fucking liar or a cheat. She cheated on me with my best friend. She never tried to get to know me either. She was as complicit as I was, but because she died, I'm the one who ruined her life. Never mind that she died while on vacation with the man who I thought of as a brother. He told me he hated me, you know."
He looks at me then. "I'm still angry at them, but not as much. I only wish it hadn't taken her dying for me to learn the truth."
"And it's made me unequivocal in my current relationships. I don't play games, and I'm honest, even if the truth is uncomfortable."
I frown up at him.
"Are you in a relationship?" I ask him, surprised at how the prospect of that bothers me.
"No, not now. I've been in a couple since she died. But nothing serious. I've been busy, and our circle is small. It's impossible to meet someone who didn't know her. I can't imagine being with anyone like her again. I don't hate her or William. But I recognize what a disservice it was to not be honest with everyone and admit that I didn't want to marry her. That I didn't try to get to know her, that I didn't give the relationship the attention it deserves. So now, I act when I feel compelled to and do my best to be honest. And I demand the same from anyone who I get to know. There’s no point if we can't be at least that."
I look down at my hands and shake my head.
I can only stare at him in wonder. I have no idea what it must be like to make peace with your demons. To be able to tell your truth so easily. I never could.
