“You are too generous with your compliments.” I smile and hold my free hand over my heart.
Ivy huffs, turning her attention to Avery. “How dare you embarrass us.”
“From where I was standing, we made an otherwise boring event worth attending.” Avery holds her head high.
“You break your engagement to run off with this man.” She waves at me with her spindly hand. “And then you insist on flaunting it everywhere. Do you know what I have had to handle? You’re too old for this nonsense,” Ivy snaps, tension feathering through her jaw.
“Do you know what it was like for her?” I seethe, stepping in front of Avery. “Did you even call or did you ignore her? And I don’t know if you noticed, but your guests love her. She isn’t a gig singer you can call up on short notice. Do you know how many Grammys she’s won? Eight. Because she’s brilliant.”
I’ve waited years to say this. Not just over some fucking voicemail, but to her face.
“What makes you think you have the right to speak to me like this in my home?” Ivy asks. “You are the reason she’ll never live up to her potential. I will never understand what she sees in a man who whores himself around so publicly.”
“He is my husband, and you will not speak to him that way.” Avery’s voice is sharp and cold; an icicle pointed straight at Ivy’s heart. “If you ever even cared to learn anything about me, then you’d know he is the single most important person in my life.”
I don’t expect it to feel so good, not just for her to say the words I’ve longed to hear for years, but at the same time, defend me in a way I pretended I didn’t need. I thought that I would be fine if others thought of me as a useless playboy, someone they’d never take seriously. But I’m starting to realize that’s a lie, a wall I kept in place because I was terrified no one would ever understand me the way Avery does. And I didn’t want to come face to face with that reality.
Ivy’s eyes bulge. Words seem to evade her as she opens and closes her mouth. That’s when I notice the rest of the kitchen has fallen silent. Phones are out and aimed right at us.
No doubt recording this entire interaction so they can post it. Ten at least. There’s no way I can stop all of them, but I can try. I start to side step, working my fingers free from Avery’s grip but she just squeezes tighter. Her eyes are on me as I give a pointed look at one camera, but to my surprise she shakes her head.
I guess this is it. No more hiding.
“You’re choosing him over us?” Ivy wails.
“You make that sound like it’s supposed to be a hard choice. Of course I’m choosing him.” She turns to face a camera and speaks directly to it. “And I don’t care who knows it.”
“Yeah, this is my wife!” I yell back over my shoulder, and I relish the way the words roll off my tongue.
With my hand in hers we walk toward the exit. Done running away.
28
Avery
December 2025
The first thing I feel as we walk out into the night is the cold December air. The second is Wes’s hand on my back as he draws me to him against the wall.
“Say it again.” His voice is a low rumble that rolls through me and lands low in my stomach.
I smile, knowing what he means and that I’m finally able to give it to him. “My husband.”
His fingers clench in my skirt causing it to swish over the ground. A beam of moonlight cuts his face in two, putting his anxious swallow on display as his voice shakes. “Do you regret it?”
And it feels like he’s asking about more than just tonight, but if I ever married him in the first place.
“No,” I say, cupping his face and making sure he can see that I mean it in my eyes.
There’s no word that has the capability of encapsulating what we are to each other, how over decades our lives have woven together. But husband? That might be as close as I get. The truthof that reality launched out of me when I came to his defense. “You are my husband and I’m done pretending you aren’t.”
I grab his lapels, wrinkling the fabric in my fists and kiss him, in case words aren’t enough for him to understand how thoroughly I mean it. His mouth is crushing. The truth is out there and it’s freeing—a long aging bottle of wine being uncorked to savor and we won’t let a drop go to waste.
“Fuck,” he says against my lips before kissing me again, and I can taste his smile. “My.”Kiss.“Wife.”Kiss.
With my hips pressed against his, I feel him growing harder against me. I slip a hand between us, his muscles rippling as I untuck his shirt and graze this skin over the waist of his pants.
“I’m a grateful wife too. You came all the way here with me. Can I show you how thankful I am?” It’s a privilege to touch him, to bring him pleasure. And it’s always important to know that he wants this.
