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Across the room, there’s an uproar of laughter. My eyes search until they meet
Adam’s. His arm is draped around his wife. “It’s not fair that she gets all the credit,” Vanessa says with a nod. “We all know it’s you who is doing the work.”
“Ah, it’s fine…I can’t complain.”
“No,” she tells me. “I suppose you’re smarter than that.”
My options are wide open. I’ve had three offers of marriage so far. Just not the one I want. Funny, how men are quite peculiar that way. Always varying alliances, vying for self-interests. Whatever. Now that I don’t need the money, now that I don’t need a home or friends, because I have all those things, I hardly need a man. Plus, I have something better than any of that, something better than money even. I wasn’t sure there was such a thing. As it turns out, there is. For the first time in my life, I have power.
People look up to me. Tom’s death may have been unexpected. But I have handled it well. That’s not to say I don’t miss being someone’s wife. Having all the boxes mostly checked was nice. That’s where Adam comes in.
Later, I sidle up to him. “We should find a dark corner somewhere.”
This used to make him smile. These days he’s too on edge to entertain such indulgences.
His fingertips brush mine. I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.
Wanting something and having it is not the same thing.
“Power looks good on you,” I say. It’s a concession. The largest I can make, considering.
His voice wavers. “You think?”
“I do. How’s it feel to have so much control?”
He looks at me then. “Better than I imagined.”
“You promised.”
“I know,” he says. And then, a concession of his own. “Wait three minutes and meet me in the guest bathroom.”
“Why?” I ask. “So you can show me how powerful you are now that I’ve gotten you what you wanted?”
A small smile creeps up, threatening to show itself. He likes it when I remind him of what he already knows. Most people do. He shifts and then shakes his head and with it goes any trace of amusement. “No,” he tells me. “So, I can give you what you want.”
“About that,” I start to say. But he walks away before the rest of the words slip out. I want to tell him he’s a liar. I want to cause a scene. I want to raise a glass and make a toast. I want to tell everyone about his broken promises. I want to tell everyone how he said if I did what he wanted, we’d be together. And yet, he is here with his wife, sneaking off with me to the guest bathroom, giving me what’s leftover. In this way, I guess not everything has changed.
“Have you any interest in playing a game?” he asks, peeling my dress up my thighs. Only seven percent of any given message is based on the words. Thirty-eight percent comes from the tone of voice, and fifty-five percent from the speaker’s body language and face. This feels like déjà vu. His expression is foolish. He has power on his mind, and illusions can blind you if you’re not careful.
I want to tell him that I hate this bathroom. I hate myself for loving him. I want him to know I wish I could go back to before. Back to a time when I hadn’t yet learned what it meant to love another person. But then his hands find the spots on my body he knows so well, and we speak a different language, and I don’t say any of that. “Depends on the game…” I sigh.
He grins. “It’s a fun one.”
Like always, I believe him.
Adam comes in two minutes flat and once again, I am the one on the losing end. “Sorry,” he offers. “It’s just that dress. And you in it. “
“It’s okay,” I lie. “At least we have a minute…there’s something I want to discuss with you…”
He’s looking for a way out. “I don’t have time.”
“You owe me.”
“Fine,” he relents. “What is it now?”
“I want to discuss the Replacement Wife Project with you.”
“That was Mark’s idea.” His eyes narrow. “How’d you know?”
