Page 8 of The Husband I Left

The evening of the celebration, I stood in the center of the massive walk-in closet in the penthouse and examined my dress in the full-length mirror and tried to decide if it was too much. It was one of the dresses Oliver had purchased for me while we were dating, emerald green with a neckline that dipped just low enough to be interesting and a back that’s hardly there at all. The first time I wore it, we’d been planning to go to dinner at some fancy place downtown. Oliver had taken one look at me, and the evening had ended with us staying in and ordering takeout. The dress had good memories attached to it, and I desperately needed the confidence boost it provided.

I spent hours working on my hair. I flat ironed it, twisted it into a knot at the nape of my neck and shellacked it with enough hair spray to create a small hole in the ozone layer. Despite my best efforts, however, small curls were already starting to escape.

And then there was what would prove to be my nemesis for the evening: the shoes.

I debated with myself all evening about the shoes before finally making my way to the back of the closet and pulling out the box. They had been purchased to go with this exact dress, and they were gorgeous. Strappy, silver, with a bit of sparkle at the ankle. I’d never worn them though, due to the size of the heel. But when I slipped them on, they looked so perfect that I decided I could learn to walk in them in the next twenty minutes. I practiced the length of the bedroom. I only turned my ankle twice. That seemed like a reasonable success rate.

Oliver was waiting downstairs, talking to someone on his phone, and when he saw me, he actually stopped mid-sentence. His eyes went from my face down to my toes and back up, and the heat in them made my stomach flip.

“I’ll call you back,” he said into the phone, and hung up without waiting for an answer. “Genevieve. You look incredible.”

“Yeah?” I did a little turn and only wobbled once.

He crossed to me and kissed me, one hand sliding to the small of my back, and for a moment everything was perfect. I was wearing a beautiful dress, and my gorgeous husband was looking at me like I was the only thing in the world, and I thought, maybe this won’t be so bad.

* * *

Nancy wanted the four of us to arrive together, and since the penthouse was closer to the venue, it was agreed that they would meet us here. Soon, the elevator dinged, letting us know they had arrived. The door opened, and Nancy and Thomas stepped out. Nancy was wearing an elegant black gown and pearls. She greeted Oliver with a smile and a kiss. Then she turned to me.

Her eyes landed on my neckline.

Her smile didn’t exactly disappear, but it did become strained. Her gaze traveled up to my head with its little halo of curls and then back to my neckline, as if it might have raised itself in the last thirty seconds.

She didn’t say a word. She didn’t need to.

Thomas kissed my cheek and told me I looked lovely and then muttered something to Oliver about the waiting car. I felt like I had failed a test I didn’t even know I was taking.

“Is the dress okay?” I whispered to Oliver in the car.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered back, which was not exactly an answer, but as there was nothing I could do about it at that point in time, I let it go.

We arrived at the venue, a huge historical building downtown that had been rented out for the occasion. Thomas and Nancy exited the car first, and Nancy watched as Oliver helped me out.

“Are you sure you can actually walk in those shoes, Genevieve?” she muttered in a low voice while sending concerned looks towards the photographers gathered around the entrance.

“Absolutely!” I said with far more confidence than I felt. I then missed my first step entirely and had to grab Oliver’s arm to keep myself from falling face first on the pavement. Nancy closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. We both knew it was going to be a long night.

* * *

It all started going downhill when Nancy took me around and started introducing me to people. The first woman was the wife of a board member, and she leaned in and kissed the air next to both of my cheeks. So I assumed that’s how it was done. But then the next woman, the wife of a federal judge, held her hand out for a shake just as I went in for an air kiss, and I ended up almost head-butting her shoulder while she awkwardly patted my elbow.

“Sorry! So sorry. I’m a hugger,” I said, which isn’t even true.

Eventually, I just settled on giving people a cheerful smile and a small wave. I’m sure everyone there was left wondering if the new Sinclair bride had ever actually interacted with other human beings before. I was beginning to wonder myself.

“Sorry!” I chirped, over and over.

Nancy stood beside me, her arm linked through mine, her smile tight, and I got the feeling it was taking every bit of willpower she possessed to keep from shoving me into the nearest potted plant.

Then there was the battle over my name.

Nancy introduced me to everyone as “Genevieve Sinclair, Oliver’s new wife.”

And every single time, I’d smile and say, “Just Genny, please. Genevieve was my grandmother.”

And Nancy’s smile would get a little tighter and at the next introduction she’d say “Genevieve” again a little more firmly, and I’d say “Genny, really, just Genny” a little more firmly and it became a bit of a silent war between us. She’d enunciate every syllable, “Gen-a-vieve,” and I’d hit back with “just Genny” in the brightest, most cheerful voice I could manage.

Oliver said nothing. He just stood at my side with his hand on my back and a slight smile on his face.