He threw his head back and laughed, the sound bright and jarring in the dimly lit lounge. "That bad?"
"I’ve faked so many orgasms this month I felt like I was back in a traditional marriage."
"Megs," he said, his expression sobering as he leaned in. "One thing is certain, you and Kelsey left a permanent mark on each other. It was never just about the sex. You built a bond, intimacy, friendship, a shared language. You’re looking for a physical release in other people, but what you’re actually missing is the everyday life with her."
"I hate how right you are about everything," I muttered, taking a long sip of my third glass of sparkling wine. A pair of senators offered a polite nod as they passed, and I reflexively donned my professional mask until they were out of sight. "I can’t keep coming to you and Sarki just to be told the truth."
"Imagination is a dangerous field, Megan. It makes us romanticize the things we lack and ignore the reality of what we have. Don’t get me wrong, I love lying on the couch watching action movies with you, but I know I’m not the person you’re looking for in the dark."
"Let’s just dance," I whispered, the weight of her absence threatening to pull me under. "Before I get any more depressed."
And we danced. We moved through the crowd for hours, a perfect, hollow performance. But the moment he dropped me off and the door clicked shut behind me, the silence of the apartment felt like a physical weight. I pulled a bottle of wine from the cellar, uncorked it with trembling hands, and collapsed onto the sofa.
I woke up the next morning still clutching the empty bottle, greeted by a hangover that had become my most faithful companion.
A year and a half has passed since Kelsey and I ended things. My engagement to Donald remains a delayed, hovering promise. I am successful, I am powerful, and I am, completely and utterly, shattered.
#51
"Pro alto mar levo você pra passear. Dez mil estrelas quero te presentear. Vem sorrir, vem cantar. Meu bem, eu tô aqui. Não adianta ir pra lá" - Liniker
The gardens of the summer mansion Donald chose were a masterpiece of botanical engineering, a lush maze of green that felt more like a beautiful trap than a sanctuary.
Lisa had handpicked my outfit, a blue halterneck floral dress that felt light against the humid air. The wide-brimmed hat seemed like an exaggeration until the sun began to bite, proving her right, as she usually was.
On the surface, it was flawless. The buffet was decadent, the band played with soulful precision, and our families were gathered in a display of unity. It was a perfect lie. I was getting engaged for the sake of a headline, sitting across from my future husband’s actual lover while pretending to be the happiest woman in Washington.
My mother approached, pulling me into an embrace so tight and performative that it felt suffocating. I rested my hands on her shoulders, unable to mimic her enthusiasm.
"Donald is simply perfect, dear!" she beamed.
"Are you excited for me, Mother? Or just for the political status this marriage guarantees?"
"Of course, darling. That’s what matters in this world," she replied, her eyes already scanning the crowd for the next person to impress.
"Where is your latest conquest?" I asked, nodding toward the man she’d been mentioning for weeks. She pointed to a gentleman who looked as though he’d stepped directly out of a classic Italian film, impeccably tailored and effortlessly charming.
"Francesco, this is Megan, my daughter."
He took my hand, his lips brushing my fingertips in a courtly greeting. I moved to respond with a practiced pleasantry, but my voice died in my throat. My eyes were sabotaged by a movement on the stairs.
A woman was descending, draped in a beige linen suit that screamed old-money elegance. She wore sunglasses, but the tilt of her head was unmistakable.
"Shit," I whispered, the word a jagged breath. My gaze darted desperately for Sarki, who read the panic on my face instantly. She excused us from my mother and Francesco, pulling me toward the edge of the terrace.
"What the hell is Kelsey doing here?" I hissed.
"How did you think Donald’s largest campaign donor wouldn't make the guest list?" Sarki countered, her voice low and cautionary.
"The same way she’s managed to be invisible for the last year and a half," I snapped, grabbing a glass of sparkling wine from a passing waiter. I turned, my heart hammering against my ribs, just in time to see her stop.
She lifted her sunglasses, her gaze locking onto mine with a familiarity that made my knees weak.
"You look beautiful, Kitty."
"How are you?" I asked, my voice a flat line. I completely ignored her compliment and the fact that hearing that nickname, our nickname, had sent a traitorous jolt through my system.
When she reached out to touch my arm, I pulled back instinctively, denying her the contact she so clearly sought.
