My boyfriend called me to break up while half a dozen men were laughing in the background, and after three years of being his secret wife, I finally gave him the answer he deserved.
Chapter 2
I hardly touched the rest of dinner.
When Sienna returned, her eyes were red. She was composed, graceful, and heartbreakingly beautiful, which somehow made everything worse.
I opened a rideshare app.
“I’m going back to campus. You should drive Sienna home.”
Chase took the phone from my hand.
“No.”
“She came alone.”
“She has a driver.”
“Then what exactly am I doing here?”
He looked at me. “Eating dinner with your husband.”
Outside, I finally exploded.
“You bring me to the exact restaurant where your ex is sitting, kiss me in front of her, then act like nothing happened. What am I supposed to think?”
His mouth twitched.
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“How smart you are.”
“Then we’re both in trouble.”
He laughed, and that irritated me even more.
But instead of turning toward campus, he drove to the townhouse we had bought after our marriage.
I hadn’t stayed there in nearly a year.
The place once had matching mugs, matching slippers, matching toothbrushes. I bought everything in pairs because some foolish part of me wanted the house to feel married even if we weren’t.
Chase had once looked around and said, “You don’t have to do all this.”
I pretended it was for our parents.
After that, every time he failed to come home, I threw away one matching item.
By the time the last pair disappeared, I moved into the dorm.
Now Chase stood in the living room, looking around at the emptiness.
“What happened here?”
“Minimalism.”
“Lily.”
“What?”
He turned slowly.
“Where is everything?”
I shrugged.
“You weren’t using it.”
His expression changed.
Not anger exactly.
Something heavier.
Then he stepped closer.
I backed into the wall.
“Why are you running from me?”
“I’m not.”
“You’ve been doing it for a year.”
“Sienna is back.”
His jaw tightened.
“So?”
“So maybe we should stop pretending.”
He leaned closer. “Pretending what?”
“That this marriage is real.”
For once, I had him speechless.
I took a breath.
“Chase, let’s get divorced.”
His eyes went cold.
“No.”
I blinked. “That wasn’t the response I expected.”
“You want to divorce me so I can be with Sienna?”
“Yes.”
“That may be the stupidest thing you’ve ever said.”
“I’ve said some impressive things.”
“Lily.”
The anger in his voice cracked something open in me.
“She comes back, and suddenly you take me to her restaurant. You kiss me in front of her. You act possessive. What am I supposed to think? That you suddenly fell in love with your secret wife after three years?”
His expression shifted.
I hated myself for continuing.
“I don’t want to be ammunition between you and your ex.”
My eyes burned.
“I’m tired of being useful.”
The last word broke.
I started crying.
Not gracefully.
Not quietly.
Years of pretending I didn’t care seemed to come out all at once.
Chase stared at me like I had slapped him.
Then he muttered something under his breath and handed me a tissue.
“Stop crying.”
“I’m trying.”
“You’re terrible at it.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
Before I could argue, he kissed me again.
Then a sharp cramp doubled me over.
Romance died instantly.
I grabbed my stomach.
Chase panicked.
“What happened?”
“My period.”
He stared.
Another cramp hit.
Ten minutes later, the world-famous Ice King was boiling water, digging through bathroom cabinets, and searching online for heating pads.
When I woke the next morning, a warm bottle wrapped in a towel rested against my stomach.
Chase was sitting beside me.
“Morning, little pig.”
I groaned.
Then I noticed his shirt on me.
And a tiny stain on the sheet.
I pulled the blanket over my head.
“Kill me.”
He laughed.
“You’re shy now?”
“Leave.”
“I changed your diapers when you were a baby.”
I threw a pillow at him.
“That was almost thirty years ago!”
He handed me a mug.
“Drink.”
“What is it?”
“Brown sugar water.”
I looked at him suspiciously.
“You made this?”
“Don’t sound so shocked.”
I drank.
It was warm and sweet.
“Why are you suddenly being nice?”
He was quiet for a moment.
Then he said, “You told me once that girls want to be coaxed when they’re upset.”
“I said that?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Years ago.”
He remembered.
Before I could process that, he looked directly at me.
“And don’t mention divorce again.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means exactly what I said.”
I wanted to ask more.
I didn’t.
A few weeks later, my professor recommended me as a still photographer for a celebrity interview program.
The scheduled guest canceled because of a scandal.
His replacement walked through the studio doors at ten the next morning.
Sienna.
She was polite, professional, and effortlessly magnetic. During the interview, the host asked why she had returned to the United States after years abroad.
Sienna looked into my camera.
“For someone,” she said softly.
The room practically melted.
I did not.
After filming, she approached me.
“You photograph people beautifully.”
“Thank you.”
“You always did.”
Before I could answer, assistants carried trays of milk tea into the studio.
Someone shouted, “Delivery from Chase Sterling!”
The crew erupted.
People whispered about Sienna and Chase.
Old romance.
Perfect timing.
Destiny.
I took one cup and wished caffeine could erase hearing.
That night, the production team went out for drinks. Sienna joined us.
Halfway through dinner, she smiled at her phone.
“Would anyone mind if a friend stopped by?”
I knew before he entered.
Chase scanned the restaurant and saw me immediately.
Then he sat beside me.
“Why haven’t you answered your phone?”
I checked.
Nine missed calls.
One of my coworkers whispered, “You know Chase Sterling?”
I smiled thinly.
“Yeah. He’s a friend.”
Chase slowly turned his head.
“A friend?”
Later, someone suggested a card game. The first challenge required two players to kiss.
Sienna drew one number.
Chase drew the other.
Everyone screamed.
Sienna stood.
Chase remained seated.
Then he lifted his drink.
“I’ll take the penalty.”
Someone laughed. “Why?”
He looked straight at me.
“My wife wouldn’t approve.”
The room went silent.
Sienna’s face turned white.
Mine probably did too.
A few rounds later, someone challenged me to share a ceremonial toast with a male producer. Before I could refuse, Chase took my glass and drank it himself.
“I’ll do it for her.”
Afterward, I dragged him toward the elevators.
The doors closed.
He stepped toward me.
“A friend?”
I crossed my arms.
“That’s what you call me.”
“That’s different.”
“Explain how.”
He couldn’t.
So he kissed me.
When he finally released me, I said, “You cannot keep kissing me every time you lose an argument.”
His mood improved instantly.
“I’m not losing.”
“You absolutely are.”
He handed me a cup of milk tea.
Still warm.
Brown sugar pearls.
My favorite.
“I brought this for you.”
I stared at him.
“I thought the drinks were for Sienna.”
“I didn’t know Sienna would be there.”
“You came because of me?”
“I asked your roommate where you were.”
I checked my messages.
He was telling the truth.
For the first time in years, hope returned.
And that was exactly when the internet decided to destroy it.
