Chapter 4 - My Best Friend’s Seat
Kelsey texted me at 2:17 p.m.
Lunch tomorrow? I miss you.
I stared at the message for a long time.
The last text she had sent before that was a photo of two baby cardigans from a boutique in Cherry Creek. She had written, Imagine if one of us had a little girl someday. I had replied with hearts. Now I wondered whether she had already known. Whether she had smiled at my answer with one hand on her stomach and Adrian’s promise still warm in her ear.
Sandra told me not to respond too quickly.
“Let her think the room is still dark,” she said.
So I waited twenty minutes and wrote:
Tomorrow is hard. Friday dinner after Adrian’s event?
Her reply came almost instantly.
Perfect.
Perfect.
That was a word I would never hear the same way again.
Friday’s dinner had been Adrian’s idea. A private celebration before Quentin’s transfer moved forward. Elegant restaurant. White tablecloths. Wine. A few “core people,” he said. Me, him, my father, Kelsey, Sandra “if needed,” and two advisors whose names shifted depending on how impressive Adrian wanted the evening to sound.
He believed the dinner would be his victory lap.
I let him.
Over the next two days, I watched him perform husbandhood with frightening skill. He brought me coffee. Kissed my forehead. Mentioned future vacations. Asked whether my father seemed ready. At night, he slept beside me with the ease of a man whose lies had not yet grown teeth.
I slept little.
When I did, I dreamed of Kelsey laughing in my wedding suite while fastening the buttons on the back of my dress.
“You’re shaking,” she had said that day.
“I’m happy.”
“You deserve this,” she whispered.
Maybe she had meant Adrian.
Maybe she had meant the inheritance of pain.
On Friday afternoon, Sandra called.
“We have enough to suspend the transfer under the conduct clause and request full financial disclosure. We also have internal communications suggesting he used the marriage to induce investment. Not conclusive yet, but strong enough to stop the money.”
“What about Kelsey?”
“Let her attend.”
My stomach turned.
“You’re sure?”
“She was part of the conversation. Watch her face when the word disclosure lands.”
I looked at myself in the mirror that evening: navy sleeveless dress, blonde hair in an elegant updo, wedding ring still on my hand because sometimes evidence must remain visible until the right moment.
I looked calm.
That was useful.
May you like
I was not calm.
That was mine.
