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EMERY
“You look breathtaking.” My husband Dane’s hands rest on my exposed shoulders, his fingers dancing lightly across my skin.
“Thank you. You look handsome as ever.” I smile. “Hard to believe it’s already our five-year anniversary.”
I’m not sure I ever saw myself as the housewife type, yet here I am. And even stranger, I’m happy with how my life has turned out. When I was growing up, I was immersed in a world where women were trophies, my mother included. She didn’t do the cooking or cleaning; that was left to the hired help. She didn’t even do the child-rearing half the time; that was left to the nannies. I loved my mother, but it was clear to me from an early age that she was miserable and depressed, even if she tried masking it with pills and wine. As I got older, she would share little things with me that made me realize why she felt the way she did. She graduated top of her class at Yale, even had a PhD in bioengineering, but my father wouldn’t allow her to use her degree. She was the lady of the house, meant to attend events with him and give him children. I swore to myself I would never end up like her. I longed for freedom, an exciting life of adventure, and fiery, passionate romance that left me breathless.
“Mmm, yes.” He leans down, his soft lips running down the length of my neck. “And it’s been the best years of my life.”
Sometimes, I have to remind myself that my life is real, that it’s not a dream or fantasy. I was born into wealth and when my parents died unexpectedly, they left me with a trust fund that keeps me among the elites of society. Something so many would die to experience yet have no idea what it’s really like. So, I already understood luck in this life from a young age, but I never expected that I would go on to marry my actual soulmate. In this world, you marry someone else rich with status and legacy, and you’re really fortunate if they’re good-looking too, but the odds that they’re faithful and actually in love with you—well, you’d have a better chance at winning the lottery.
But not me. I’m one of the lucky ones.
I am one of the few that has a faithful husband who not only loves me, but spends every second away from work with me. And to say that he’s handsome is like saying theMona Lisaisjusta painting. Dane takes a lot of pride in his appearance, how he handles himself, how he dresses. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him lose his temper or overindulge in anything. He’s the perfect example of temperance. For not growing up with wealth, he knows exactly how to pretend that he did.
“I have a surprise for you,” he whispers against my ear, his breath tickling me. He reaches into his lapel, pulling out a signature navy-blue Harry Winston box.
“Dane,” I gasp as he opens the box, revealing a stunning diamond necklace of flowers. I spin around to look at it, the light in our dressing room dancing across the flawless diamonds. “You shouldn’t have.”
“Nonsense.” He smiles, pulling the necklace from the box and draping it gingerly around my neck. Instinctively, I lift my hand, dragging my fingertips over the two strands of diamonds that crisscross one another and hang down. “I remembered you mentioned how beautiful this necklace was when we were in Geneva last year and I just couldn’t allow you to not have it. It was made for you,” he says, pulling back to look at my reflection in the mirror. The necklace accents my diamond flower studs that I always wear—another gift he gave me from last year’s anniversary.
“Thank you.” I lift my gaze from the necklace, our eyes meeting in the mirror. I move my hand over his that’s still resting on my shoulder and wrap my fingers around his. It’s not about the money, it never is. In our world, spending six figures on a necklace is normal, but the fact that he remembered me casually mentioning something almost a year ago is what means so much. Like I said, in my world, most men aren’t exactly attentive to their wife’s needs. The wife merely fills a void; she’s eye candy and someone to give them an heir. A beautiful prop that is pulled off the shelf and put on display when needed. Meanwhile, they spend their evenings and work trips with a string of women, never even thinking to call home.
But not Dane. He’s different.
He calls me no matter what time his flight lands or dinner ends. He talks to me until I fall asleep when he’s traveling and always brings me home trinkets and treats that remind him of me. I am beyond blessed or lucky, whatever you want to call it. The only thing missing from our perfect little world is a baby… something I’m not sure I’m ready for yet.
Every once in a while, seemingly out of nowhere, doubt rears its ugly head and sends me into a spiral of guilt. Doubt about if I’m cut out for this world I was born into. Doubt about if the trophy wife and doting mother is what I truly want.
How could you ever want more when you have it all? A husband who would do anything for you, a name that will get you through any door… a bank account that rivals God.
But then, just as quickly, I remind myself that I’m blessed beyond measure and I’m just being selfish.
“You deserve it darling. Besides”—he adjusts his cuff link in the mirror, then reaches for his bow tie—“I can’t have you not dripping in diamonds at our anniversary party. What kind of husband would I be if I didn’t lavish you with gifts?” He winks at me before checking his watch. As much as I know the gifts he gives me are from the heart and clearly thought out, I can’t help but wonder if it’s him trying to prove something to the world, something to the people he surrounds himself with. Unlike them and me, Dane wasn’t born into wealth. He’s had to claw and work for every dime he has. “Speaking of the party, Andy will be here in a few minutes with the car. Are you almost ready?”
“I am.” I smile, snapping out of my overthinking before it spirals. I grab my red lipstick and slick on another layer before sliding it into my clutch. My auburn hair is pulled back in a half updo, the strapless sweetheart neckline of my dark-green velvet dress accentuating my cleavage.
“Mmm, you’re going to break necks in that dress.”
His eyes linger on my breasts for a moment, the attention from him still making me blush as a giddy feeling pools in my stomach. I knew Dane would love this dress, I chose it for him, just like I do all my clothing choices. Green isn’t my favorite color; it’s not even a color I like at all really, but he’s always insisted with my fair skin and hair color, I should aways wear green. And who am I to question a man with impeccable taste?
“Thank you.” I clear my throat nervously before trying to sound nonchalant. “Is Mads going to be at the party?”
I hate using the word perfect to describe a relationship but ours is, apart from one small constant… Dane’s best friend, Madden ‘Mads’ Bishop. A man who is the exact opposite of Dane in every way.
A man who like me, grew up with unimaginable wealth and privilege. Oddly, before Dane, our paths never crossed even though the circle of billionaires in Chicago is very small. Or maybe it had and I never noticed. Being that he’s a decade or more older than me, it would make sense.
“Of course he’ll be there; he was the best man at our wedding.” He walks over to me and kisses my cheek. “I really wish you two would try to get along.” I stand up and smile at my husband, his pale-blue eyes pleading. “He’s not that bad, sweetheart. Just give him a chance.”
I’ve given him multiple chances over the last five years and every time he crushes any hope of another.
Mads was the first person I met in Dane’s world. From that first meeting, he was cold and dismissive toward me. At first I had assumed it was because of my age. I’m sure he thought that his friend was just having a good time with a twenty-year-old before he found someone his own age and settled down. But when our three-month romance turned into an engagement and wedding by month five, it was pretty clear that I wasn’t going anywhere.
We eloped to Vegas. Our wedding photos are some of my favorite memories to look back on. Our faces are filled with such genuine joy our eyes are practically shut from how wide we were smiling. The rest of our friends looked the same, mouths wide open as they cheered us on, arms in the air in excitement… but not Mads. His cold, dead eyes were hollow, his lips in a thin line, his hands crossed one over the other at his waist.
He’s never been a joyous person to be around. I think I’ve seen him genuinely smile maybe twice in the years I’ve known him. Unlike Dane with his classic all-American boy-next-door charm and his floppy blond hair and blue eyes, Mads is dark and moody, with black hair and even blacker eyes. His olive skin is peppered with tattoos that peek over his shirt collar and beneath the cuffs of his sleeves. I used to joke with Dane that he was the preppy country club kid who befriended the goth, emo kid.
