Playing Mrs. Beckett

Three years. Turned out Sophie could only live as Mrs. Beckett for a mere three years. “How disappointing,” she said as she put down the photos in her hands. On the coffee table, there were even more photos of Adrian Beckett. Nation’s ideal husband, they said. Sophie snickered, her eyes scanned the spread. Adrian at a private beach. At a park after midnight. Coming out of a cinema, dressed as incognito as his presence could hide. Each time, the same woman was at his side. Not Sophie. Three years was not a long time, but Sophie had enjoyed the time she spent playing a ‘good wife’. She had thought that she wouldn’t mind. That it was role-playing, and she was so good at compartmentalizing that this information wouldn’t hurt her. Still, this ache seemed to settle. She took another photo, one that clearly depicted the woman Adrian had cheated with. Julia Hall. Twenty-six years old. A junior associate at Beckett Holdings. Young, fresh, with a soft smile but sharp mind. Julia had wide brown eyes and a laugh Sophie had heard once at a company dinner, bright and unguarded, the kind of laugh that made strangers turn their heads. Sophie could almost understand it Sophie chuckled—it seemed Adrian wasn’t even aware that he had a type, because Julia Hall was exactly what Sophie used to be, years ago, back when she and Adrian were just college students. And it seemed that Adrian still was not a good judge of character, because even from this photo, Sophie could feel something beneath those seemingly innocent eyes. Ambition of someone who knew their worth, and willing to do anything to reach it. Well, if Adrian was sharp enough to notice those kinds of things, he wouldn’t pick Sophie as a wife in the first place. The fact that he believed the docile, simple girl act she put on was enough indicator that Adrian never expected her to be something more than a housewife. And, of course, he wouldn’t expect Julia Hall to want more than his love. Was this really the man she chose? Sophie set the photo down and leaned back on her chair. Three years ago, Adrian Beckett had been charming, driven, and hungry in a way she had found genuinely attractive. She had liked that he was building something. She had liked that he didn't know who she was. Nobody knowing who she was had been the whole point. Sophie Langham, abroad for university, scholarship girl, quiet and unremarkable — that had been the role, and she had played it well, because she had been trained her whole life to play roles well. It was one of the few useful things about growing up as a Langham. You learned very early that most people only saw what you allowed them to see. Adrian had seen a smart, pretty girl from a modest background and thought: manageable. And he had not been entirely wrong. She had made herself manageable; a simple girl content with a busy boyfriend. A simple wife content with a small fashion label to run. A woman content with running the little empire that is their house, unaware of the grand empire his husband operated. The problem was that Adrian had confused her stillness for limitation. Sophie walked towards the floor-to-ceiling window of their New York penthouse. Her gaze swept through the packed traffic way below her. Her fingers fluently dialed an old number she hadn’t thought of for as long as she was Mrs. Beckett, a number she would always remember despite her own wishes. The call connected in just two rings. “Sophie! You finally called me! What happened? Is everything okay?” Sophie felt warmth in her heart. Three years was also their last contact, and this big brother of hers still answered with words full of care the very moment she called. “I’m okay, but I need help.” Panic set on the other side of the phone. “Why? Just tell me, and this brother will get it done for you.” Sophie smiled. “Can you get me a solicitor? The best one you can get.” “Why? Did you get in trouble?” “I’m getting a divorce.” A pause. “Finally you see clearly. I know you hate me saying this, but I know that Adrian is not right for you. You have nothing to worry about. I will get you out of there.” “Thank you.” “And Sophie,” her brother added. “Mom and Dad are still waiting for you to contact them. It’s been three years. They miss you terribly.” Silence settled, and Sophie found herself smiling. Her parents were always like this, fussing and nagging, eager to get involved with every aspect of her life. She appreciated it, but it would be a lie to say that she didn’t find it annoying. Especially since they seemed to strongly oppose her relationship with Adrian. Sophie had been young back then. There was also her rebellious heart trying to prove something to her parents. Who knew, her parents were right. They saw something about Adrian’s character that Sophie seemed to miss. “I know,” Sophie said before saying her farewell and ending the call. A beep rang from the front door, and soon footsteps followed. Without turning her head, she knew who it was from scent alone. This waft of oud and musk had been Adrian's signature. Sophie’s gift for their first anniversary, a cheap perfume she purchased with her meager part-time earnings. Adrian insisted on wearing it even now that he had become CEO. So he could still be that sentimental, even as he held another woman. What a farce. Sophie swiftly packed all the scattered photographs, putting it back to the brown envelope and setting it aside. Just in time. “Darling, have you been waiting?” Adrian greeted, his arm comfortably enveloped Sophie’s waist. Sophie, trained for three years to play a simple wife, smiled meekly. Adrian continued, “I have informed the people at the restaurant. They’ve prepared the exclusive rooftop just for us. Now, if you’re ready, we can go right away. Or not, we can make them wait. They wouldn’t dare to mind.” Sophie shook her head. “No, let’s go. I can’t wait.” Her eyes scanned deep into Adrian’s, trying to find something. Anything. For a trace, a flicker of something. Guilt. Caution. But she found nothing. So Adrian had learnt to play a role too, huh? That was fine. Two could definitely play the game.