Chapter 2 - THE DIAMOND IN THE LOCKED DRAWER
There are moments in a marriage when you discover that the person sleeping beside you has an entire history you were never invited to understand.
That night was mine.
Ethan ended the call and stood motionless beside the dresser.
I looked from his face to the diamond ring.
“Are you going to explain?”
He rubbed a hand over his mouth.
“Yes.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
He sat on the edge of the bed.
“Victoria contacted me last December. She said her divorce was becoming dangerous. Her husband, Adrian Bellamy, was threatening to expose financial information involving her father's company.”
“And you flew to London to rescue her?”
“No. I flew there because the information involved Whitmore Capital.”
I stared.
“Your company?”
“My father's division.”
He looked toward the ring.
“Victoria returned it to me three years ago when she ended our engagement. In London, she gave it back again.”
“Why?”
“Because she claimed she'd hidden something inside the setting.”
My breath caught.
“What?”
“A storage device. Or so she said.”
I stared at the diamond.
“Did you find it?”
“No. I had the ring examined. Nothing was inside.”
“Then why keep it?”
“Because she insisted someone had tampered with it. I wanted the original preserved until I understood what she was trying to tell me.”
I looked at him.
“You could have told me.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you?”
He was silent.
Then:
“Because I was afraid you'd think I was still involved with her.”
I laughed without humor.
“So you kept her engagement ring in our bedroom instead?”
His face tightened.
“I know how that looks.”
“Do you?”
I picked up the velvet box.
For one terrible second, I imagined seventeen-year-old Claire watching Ethan place that ring on Victoria's finger.
I closed the lid.
“I'm going to sleep in the guest room.”
“Claire.”
“I need some space.”
He stood but didn't stop me.
That mattered.
So did the fact that he didn't follow.
The next morning, I arrived at Wild June before sunrise.
Mia found me cutting stems with unnecessary aggression.
“Who died?”
“My dignity.”
She put down her coffee.
“Oh, no.”
I told her everything.
The gala.
Victoria.
London.
The ring.
Mia listened without interrupting.
Then she asked, “Do you believe Ethan?”
“I don't know.”
“Do you think he cheated?”
“No.”
“Do you think he loves Victoria?”
I hesitated.
And that was answer enough.
Mia took the scissors from my hand.
“Claire, you've loved this man for fourteen years. But he only knows six months of your love story.”
I looked down.
“You make it sound pathetic.”
“No. I think you've been terrified of wanting more than he promised.”
I swallowed.
She touched my shoulder.
“Maybe it's time you told him.”
At eleven, Victoria walked into Wild June.
She wore white.
Naturally.
Women like Victoria always wore white when they wanted to make someone else feel dirty.
She examined the flower arrangements.
“Charming little business.”
I folded my arms.
“What do you want?”
“To help you.”
“How generous.”
She smiled.
“Ethan is going to lose everything.”
My stomach tightened.
“What are you talking about?”
“His father is preparing to challenge the validity of your marriage under the trust.”
I stared.
Victoria continued.
“Charles believes Ethan married you solely to trigger the release of voting shares.”
“He did.”
She smiled.
“Exactly.”
I felt cold.
“The trust doesn't require romance.”
“No,” Victoria said. “But it does require a legally valid marriage. Charles intends to argue that your arrangement was a sham.”
I knew enough to understand that wasn't automatically true.
Ethan and I were legally married.
We lived together.
We shared a home.
But litigation could still become expensive, public, and destructive.
Victoria leaned closer.
“You can save him.”
“How?”
“Leave quietly. Annul the marriage if possible. Let Ethan negotiate with his father.”
I stared.
“You want me to give up my husband.”
She smiled.
“I'm asking you to stop pretending he's yours.”
I looked at her.
Then said something that made her expression change.
“Victoria, why are you so desperate to get me out of the way?”
Her smile vanished.
For one second, she looked frightened.
Then she reached into her handbag.
She placed an envelope on the counter.
“Because if you stay, Claire, your flower shop will be the first thing they destroy.”
And she walked out.
Inside the envelope was a photograph of my mother.
Taken twelve years earlier.
Beside her stood Charles Whitmore.
On the back, someone had written:
ASK YOUR MOTHER WHAT SHE DID FOR THE WHITMORES.
My mother had been dead for ten years.
May you like
And suddenly, the story of my marriage was no longer only about Ethan.
It was about her.
