Armani
I don't think I've ever been more nervous in my life to meet with a woman.
The wedding band on my left ring finger feels heavy, almost foreign against my skin, and I twist it absently, trying to think of all the times I might have ever had more reason for concern. The platinum catches the evening light filtering through the trees, a constant reminder of promises made and secrets kept.
The time I had to tell Father I failed my political science class was my second year of college. I had to inform Mother that I had accidentally damaged a vase that had been in her family for thirteen generations. I informed Benedict that I was planning to flee to Monaco with the girl he had been seeing.
Yes, they were all mortifying in their own way, each memory carrying its unique sting of shame o
