The Picture Wife

Chapter Two

Arthur arrived at the restaurant earlier than planned, fidgeting with the cuff of his shirt as he glanced around. The place was cozy, bathed in the soft glow of golden chandeliers.

When Elena walked in, she hesitated at the entrance, scanning the room until her eyes found him. She took a slow breath, as if preparing herself, then made her way over. Arthur stood the moment she reached the table, a smile curving his lips.

"You look beautiful," he said.

Elena chuckled as she sat across from him.

She picked up the menu, but Arthur didn’t miss the flicker of something in her eyes—nervousness, maybe? He decided to ease her into the conversation.

"You’re uncomfortable," he observed, swirling the wine in his glass.

Elena forced a small smile. "I'm just… surprised, I guess. This place is expensive."

Arthur chuckled. "You used to dine in places like this all the time."

Her smile faltered. "That was a long time ago."

They ordered their food, and for a while, their conversation stayed light—favorite meals, childhood stories, things that made them laugh. But Arthur wasn’t here for small talk.

He leaned forward slightly, his tone shifting. "Elena, can I ask you something?"

She raised an eyebrow. "That depends. Am I going to like the question?"

He smirked but didn’t waver. "Back in college… why were you so hard on me?"

The amusement drained from Elena’s face. Surprise flickered in her eyes before she quickly masked it.

"I mean, I know I was different back then—quiet, awkward. But you were relentless. You never let me breathe."

Elena sighed, looking down at the table. "I was a terrible person, wasn’t I?"

Arthur shook his head. "I wouldn’t say that. I just want to understand."

She exhaled, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. "I don’t know, Arthur. I guess… back then, I was trying to be someone I wasn’t. I wanted to fit in, and people like me didn’t hang out with people like you." She winced. "That sounds horrible, doesn’t it?"

Arthur’s expression remained unreadable. "It sounds honest."

She met his gaze hesitantly. "You were different, Arthur. Always in your books, always quiet and serious. And I—I didn’t know how to deal with that. You never tried to impress anyone. You just… were. And maybe that made me uncomfortable."

Arthur chuckled. "So, I intimidated you?"

"No! Maybe." She hesitated. "You were nice. You probably still are. But I couldn’t let myself give you a chance because I was afraid I might actually like you. And I didn’t want that to happen. So I pushed you away."

She swallowed, guilt settling deep in her chest. "I’m not trying to justify myself or make excuses. I was awful to you, and I—"

Arthur cut her off gently. "Elena, I didn’t bring you here to make you apologize or feel guilty. I just wanted to know why. And besides"—his lips curled into a small smile—"we’re cool. I still really like you, just like I always did."

Elena blinked. "I didn’t know you liked me."

Arthur’s lips twitched. "That’s a lie."

Her eyes widened. "Excuse me?"

Arthur leaned in slightly. "You knew, Elena. You knew I liked you. You saw me watching. And you made fun of me for it."

A lump formed in her throat.

Arthur exhaled, shaking his head. "You were the queen of the campus. Rich, popular, untouchable. And I was the scholarship kid wearing secondhand clothes, eating whatever I could afford. I wasn’t worth your time."

Elena looked away, shame tightening around her. "Arthur… I was young and stupid. I don’t even remember half the things I said, but if I was ever unkind to you—"

"You were," he interrupted, his voice calm but firm.

She winced.

"So much for not making me feel guilty," she murmured.

Arthur’s gaze softened slightly. "I’m messing with you." He leaned back, grinning. "Come on, that was a long time ago."

Elena still looked guilty.

Arthur sighed. "I’m serious, Elena. We’re good. People change."

She nodded, exhaling. "Yeah. They do."

Arthur tapped his fingers against his glass, watching her carefully. "So tell me, what changed for you? How did you go from designer handbags to waiting tables?"

Elena arched an eyebrow. "You’re just out to roast me, aren’t you?"

Arthur laughed. "I’m sorry. I'm just genuinely curious."

She smirked slightly.

But then, her expression dimmed. "My stepbrother happened."

Arthur’s brow furrowed.

Elena sighed, swirling her water with a straw. "My parents died in an accident. Philip—my stepbrother—handled the will. I trusted him. I didn’t know he was manipulating everything in his favor. By the time I realized it, he had taken everything. The house, the cars, the accounts. I was left with nothing."

Arthur’s expression darkened.

Elena gave a humorless laugh. "Ironic, isn’t it? I used to look down on people who had to struggle. Now, I’m one of them."

Arthur tilted his head. "And do you regret it?"

She hesitated. "Regret what?"

"Who you were."

Elena opened her mouth, then closed it.

After a moment, she sighed. "Yes. I do."

Arthur watched her for a moment, then smiled. "Good. That means there's hope for you yet."

Elena blinked, then let out a genuine laugh. "You’re awful."

Arthur grinned. "I try."

For the first time that evening, Elena felt herself relax. The conversation turned lighter—stories about college, embarrassing moments, things they never got the chance to say back then. She was surprised by how easy it was to talk to him.

By the time dinner ended, she was laughing more than she had in years.

And when Arthur walked her home that night, when he stood at her doorstep and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her heart pounded in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time.

"Goodnight, Elena," he murmured.

And before she could overthink it, she whispered, "Goodnight, Arthur."

That was how it began.

One date turned into two. Two turned into five.

Elena found herself drawn to him in ways she couldn’t explain. He was different now—self-assured, charming, devastatingly handsome.

And yet, there were moments. Moments when something unreadable flickered behind his eyes. When his grip on her waist tightened just a fraction too much, when his smile felt a little too controlled.

She ignored it.

She ignored it when he dropped to one knee and said, "Elena Reynolds, be my wife."

She ignored it when he slipped the ring onto her finger, his touch lingering just a second too long.

Now, it was her wedding day.

And as she stared at herself in the mirror, a chilling thought settled in her mind.

There’s no way I’m marrying him.