CHAPTER 2: THE PERFECT WIFE
1115 Words
ANNY
Oliver takes the brass key from my hand as if it could detonate between us.
“Who is the man in the photograph?” I ask again.
He removes the key from the lock and slips it into his pocket. “Someone who is no longer part of this family.”
“That is not the same as never having existed.”
His gaze cuts to mine. For a second, I expect anger. What I see instead is calculation—Oliver rebuilding the walls I knocked out of place.
“We’re already late,” he says.
He returns the damaged photograph to the space behind the bookcase.
I almost laugh. “Of course. God forbid your parents see a c***k in the perfect marriage.”
“Not everything is about appearances.”
“In our marriage, everything is.”
I leave before he can dismiss me again.
Thirty minutes later, I descend the stairs in a dark green dress and find Oliver waiting beside the front door. His eyes travel over me slowly enough to betray him.
“Will this satisfy the audience?” I ask.
His expression hardens, but his voice comes out lower than before. “You look beautiful.”
The unexpected sincerity steals my answer.
During the drive, Oliver keeps both hands on the wheel. The key forms a visible shape in his jacket pocket. I consider asking about it again, but answers forced from Oliver are rarely answers at all.
The Adams estate sits behind iron gates and rows of cypress trees. As soon as we step out of the car, Oliver places his palm against my lower back.
My body reacts before my pride can stop it.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
“My mother is watching.”
I glance toward the terrace. Aurora Adams stands among a dozen guests, smiling at us.
So much for a family lunch.
“Then we should give her a convincing performance,” I say.
I slip my hand into Oliver’s and feel his fingers tense around mine.
His public touches are always precise: a hand at my waist, a kiss near my temple, fingers linked for exactly as long as someone is looking. Today, however, his thumb moves once across my knuckles.
The gesture is small enough to be accidental.
I feel it everywhere.
“There you are.” Aurora embraces me before turning to her son. “I was beginning to think you’d found a reason not to come.”
Oliver kisses his mother’s cheek. “I said we would be here.”
“Yes, and you never change your mind.” Aurora gives me a knowing smile. “One of his more exhausting qualities.”
Luis Adams greets us with greater restraint. His gaze pauses on our joined hands before settling on Oliver.
“We’ll discuss Argentina after lunch,” he says.
“We can discuss it Monday,” Oliver replies.
“The board won’t wait until Monday.”
The exchange is quiet, polished, and sharp enough to draw blood. Before I can study it, a woman in ivory silk approaches us.
Roberta is tall, blonde, and beautiful in a way that appears carefully designed. She is the Adams Foundation’s legal director and moves through this house with the ease of someone who never needs an invitation.
“Oliver.” She kisses his cheek, letting her hand rest on his arm. “You disappeared before I could speak to you last night.”
Last night.
Oliver came home after four.
His arm becomes rigid beneath her hand. “It wasn’t a social evening.”
Roberta turns to me. Her smile does not reach her pale eyes. “Anny. Still playing the perfect wife, I see.”
“Someone has to provide the entertainment.”
Oliver’s hand returns to my waist. This time no one is looking closely enough to require it.
Roberta notices.
Her smile tightens.
“Anny?”
The familiar male voice comes from behind me.
I turn and find Matheus standing beside a petite woman with honey-blonde hair. For a moment, the terrace disappears. I see a boy who once knew every version of me I was forced to abandon.
Then the woman beside him takes his hand, and the present settles back into place.
“Matheus.” I accept his brief embrace. “It’s been a long time.”
“Four years,” he says. “Not that anyone is counting.”
Oliver’s palm presses more firmly against my waist.
Matheus notices him and steps back. “Oliver.”
“You two know each other?” Oliver asks.
His tone is casual. His body is not.
“Anny and I grew up together,” Matheus answers.
“We dated,” I add.
Oliver looks at me. “You never mentioned that.”
“You never asked.”
The blonde woman rescues us from the silence.
“I’m Valentina,” she says, offering me a warm smile. “Matheus’s wife.”
“Anny. It’s lovely to meet you.”
“I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Matheus winces. “Only flattering things.”
Valentina laughs and draws him toward the garden, promising we will talk later.
Oliver watches them leave.
“Four years?” he asks.
“You counted.”
“I heard him.”
“You also heard the word wife.”
His jaw tightens. “I’m aware.”
The jealousy in his voice sends an absurd spark of satisfaction through me. He can ignore me in private and still resent another man remembering that I existed before becoming Mrs. Adams.
Aurora calls everyone to the table. Oliver offers me his arm, the flawless husband once more.
Before I can take it, Roberta touches my elbow.
“May I borrow Anny for a moment?”
Oliver looks between us. “What for?”
“A private conversation between women.”
“I’ll meet you at the table,” I tell him.
His hesitation surprises me, but he finally walks away.
Roberta leads me beyond the terrace, where a tall hedge shields us from the guests. The pleasant expression falls from her face.
“You should be careful with Matheus,” she says.
“My friendship with him is none of your concern.”
“I’m not concerned about your old boyfriend.”
She steps closer, lowering her voice.
“I’m concerned that you might mistake Oliver’s little performance for something real.”
Cold moves through me despite the afternoon sun.
“You don’t know anything about my marriage.”
Roberta’s eyes flick toward the terrace, where Oliver is watching us.
Then she smiles.
“I know why your husband never touches you.”
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