Chapter 160

[ 981 words ]

Delia’s POV

“Katia,” I said pleasantly. “You’ve been so busy lately. All these late nights at the office.” I smiled. “Julian too, funnily enough.” I paused, letting my eyes drop to her hands. “I notice you’re not wearing your ring tonight. You claim to be married, but you can’t seem to commit to wearing it every day. Funny that p>

Katia looked at her hand. Then at me. “When and where I wear my ring is none of your business, Delia p>

“I’m just saying. I wear mine every day.” I held up my hand. “Because that’s what married women do p>

“Congratulations,” Katia said pleasantly. She picked up her wine.

The table went very quiet.

Mama made a sound. Papa set his fork down.

Grandma Celeste said nothing. She simply looked at me with the expression of someone watching something unfold that they had been expecting for some time.

“And another thing,” I said, looking at Katia directly. “Every second you get, you’re eye-fucking my husband across whatever room you happen to be in.” I said, and everyone was staring now. So I went on. “I’m just making an observation,” I said. Still pleasant. Still smiling. “I think honesty is important in family settings p>

Katia picked up her wine glass.

“You know,” she said, “for someone so interested in honesty—” She looked at me across the table, “you’ve been remarkably quiet about your own recent activities p>

“I’m an open book,” I said.

“Are you?” Katia set her glass down. She looked around the table, at Mama, at Papa, at Grandma, at Gail. Then back at me. “Then since we’re being honest, why don’t you tell your husband why you had dinner with Victor Hale last month?” She paused. “And why you ended up in his penthouse at the Aman afterward p>

The silence that followed was total.

Mama’s mouth opened. Dad looked at the table. Gail went very still.

I felt the blood leave my face.

“Katia—” I started.

“You came here tonight to get into my personal life,” Katia said. Her voice was completely level. Not cruel — just precise. “So let’s be thorough about it p>

I looked at Julian.

He was cutting his meat.

He was cutting his meat with the composed, unhurried attention of a man who was having a perfectly ordinary dinner and had not just heard that his wife had slept with Victor Hale in a Midtown penthouse.

He looked up. He met my eyes.

He smiled.

Not warmly. Not coldly. Just smiled. The thin, private smile of a man who had known something for a while and was not surprised to hear it said out loud.

Then he looked back at his plate and continued eating.

I stared at him.

He didn’t care.

He genuinely, completely, utterly did not fucking care.

“Julian,” Mama said, her voice several pitches higher than usual. “Did you p>

“Martha.” Dad put his hand on her arm. Quietly. Firmly.

Mama stopped.

Grandma Celeste, at the head of the table, picked up her wine glass and looked at nobody in particular. “The lamb is excellent tonight,” she said. “The rosemary is from the garden p>

Gail made a sound that was not quite a laugh and not quite anything else.

I looked at Katia.

She was eating. Completely composed. She had dropped that into the middle of the dinner table like a grenade and had gone back to her meal as if it were a weather report.

“You had no right,” I said. My voice was not steady.

“You started this,” she said pleasantly. She looked up. “I finished it p>

“This is my home p>

“It’s Julian’s home,” Katia said. “And his grandmother’s.” She glanced at Grandma Celeste. “I apologise for the disruption p>

Grandma Celeste made a small gesture with her hand. “Not at all, my dear p>

I pushed my chair back.

“Excuse me,” I said.

I walked out of the dining room. Down the corridor. Into the bathroom at the end of the east hall. I locked the door and stood at the sink and looked at my reflection.

She knew about Victor.

How the hell did she know about Victor?

I thought about the Aman. Victor had been careful. I had been careful. The restaurant in Tribeca had a private room. The penthouse was secure. Nobody had seen us arrive together. Nobody had seen me leave.

Except.

Sam.

I had forgotten about Sam. I always forgot about Sam because Sam moved quietly and said little and stood slightly outside every room she was in. But Sam had contacts everywhere. Sam ran Katia’s entire operation — the legal, the logistical, and all of it. If Victor had surveillance on him, if anyone had been watching that restaurant that night, Sam would have known within hours.

Sam had told Katia.

And Katia had sat on it. Had waited. Had chosen tonight, this table, and this audience to use it.

That was not impulsive. That was calculated. That was Katia deciding when and where to deploy something, the same way she decided everything.

I pressed both hands flat on the sink.

Julian had smiled.

Not because he didn’t care about his wife’s honour. Because I was not his wife. Because we both knew it, and now the whole table knew it, and Katia had just made sure of that in four sentences while eating lamb.

I looked at my reflection for a long time.

Then I unlocked the door and walked back to the dining room.

I sat down.

I picked up my fork.

The conversation had moved on. David was talking about something. Grandma was listening. Gail was refilling wine.

Julian was talking to Katia quietly. I couldn’t hear what he said. She tilted her head and replied. He almost smiled.

I cut my lamb and ate it and said nothing for the rest of the evening.

I was building a list.

And it was getting longer.

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