THE WIFE HE TRIED TO BURY

CHAPTER 5

The chandeliers above me drip like icicles waiting to break and pierce the floor. Or maybe it’s me they want my chest wide open, my secrets spilled out like wine across the marble.

Five years ago, I have stood in this hall trying to breathe past the tight silk of my dress, trying to smile just right so they’d whisper poor sweet girl behind my back instead of fool.

Tonight, I’m not here to be pitied. I’m not here to be touched.

I’m here to be seen properly.

Damien’s arm is solid under my hand. I think he feels the way my pulse flutters where my fingertips rest on his jacket.

He doesn’t look at me he doesn’t need to. He knows why I’m here. He knows what this costs me. He knows what it will cost them.

I can feel the stares some curious, some envious. No one knows my name yet.

They just see Damien Carter’s shadow the man with the black gold empire, the man who doesn’t smile unless it’s worth a fortune. Tonight, he’s my shield and my knife.

My breath catches when the host calls for quiet. His voice crawls over the chatter like a roach skittering across marble. He talks about charity, scholarships, children who’ll never sit at these tables we all pretend to care so we can wear guilt like a diamond pin.

But then he says it.

“The final piece tonight generously donated by the DeMarco Foundation…”

The name rips through my ribs. DeMarco. My stomach knots.

And then he says Portrait of a Girl Among Lilies.

My father’s painting. Mine. Sold behind my back when Luciano needed to keep his empire from crumbling. He gave it away like he gave me away.

My teeth press into my lower lip so hard I taste copper. Damien shifts, just barely, so only I feel the warmth of his voice in my ear. “We can leave.”

No. No, I think. No. I force my fingers tighter around his sleeve. I know he can feel the tremor under my skin but he doesn’t stop me.

He just watches the stage as the first bid slides into the room five hundred thousand.

A man with slick hair and a throat too thick for his collar. He says it like he’s ordering a new toy.

Six hundred. Seven. Seven fifty.

I hear it before I see him.

Luciano’s laugh, smooth as oil, floating up through the sea of sequins and glass. He stands with his hand resting on Sabrina’s hip like she’s an ornament. The same smug curve to his mouth, the same ring on his finger. My ring, once.

I swallow the bile rising in my throat. He doesn’t see me yet. He’s too busy showing Sabrina off like a prize horse. He thinks he owns this room. He thinks he owns everything in it.

I lift my chin. I make sure he sees me when Damien raises our paddle.

“One million,” Damien says, and the word cracks open the air.

The host’s forehead shines under the lights. He stutters over the next question. Who’ll top it? Does anyone dare?

I taste Luciano’s confusion from across the floor.

He stiffens just slightly, like a wolf who smells something rotting in his den. He leans closer to Sabrina she giggles like a drunk child, no idea what’s bleeding under her feet.

“One million, going once…”

I watch Luciano’s hand twitch he wants to lift his paddle. He wants to own it all again. But he doesn’t. He won’t risk losing face now not in front of her, not for a painting he forgot to bury with me.

“Going twice…”

My heartbeat is so loud I can’t hear the rest.

Bang. The gavel. The applause. I’m frozen inside it, watching the ghosts shiver behind glass.

Then his eyes find mine.

It’s so fast that flicker of shock, the question twisting his mouth like he’s staring at something He doesn’t know yet.

I hold his stare. I let him drown in it. I feel the heat at my back Damien’s presence like a wall I lean against so I don’t collapse.

Luciano breaks first. He leaves Sabrina’s side she looks up, confused, lipstick too red, eyes too bright. He crosses the space toward us like he owns it. But tonight he owns nothing.

“Damien Carter.” He says it like a joke. Like he wants the room to remember he’s not afraid.

I taste the lie.

Luciano’s eyes flick to me hunting for a name he can’t remember. A shadow. A scar that never healed right.

“And you are…?” he starts.

I let my smile bloom slow. I want him to see every ghost behind my teeth.

I lean in, my voice a kiss of poison against his pride. “You’ll remember soon enough.”

He flinches. It’s tiny but I see it. I drink it.

Damien’s voice is smooth beside me. “Thank you for the painting, Mr. DeMarco. It’ll be returned to its rightful place.”

Luciano’s mouth opens. Closes. He looks at me like a puzzle missing the last piece.

I don’t let him speak, I slip my hand through Damien’s arm again and turn my back on him like he turned his back on me the night.

Sabrina calls his name. He doesn’t answer. He just stands there stuck between the woman he flaunts and the woman he doesn’t recognize.

Outside, the night air slaps the heat off my skin. My lungs burn like I’ve just come up from deep water.

Damien’s thumb rubs a line across my knuckles wordless approval “You did well” he said to me.

I don’t look back at the ballroom.

I know exactly what he saw tonight. And I know exactly what’s coming next.

Then my phone buzzed. I fished it from my purse with fingers that still trembled.

A photo.

Two small faces. Dark curls, warm brown eyes too big for their little heads. Tucked in bed, a tiny lamp casting soft shadows on the stuffed animals piled at their feet.

A message from their nanny: They asked when you’ll be home. They want you to read the last page tonight.