"We're so honored to recognize your foundation's work today. The affordable housing initiative in Queens has been truly remarkable." His smile is practiced, perfect. "You must sit at my table. I have some people I'd like you to meet."
I let Thomas guide me to a table near the front, where several other guests are already seated. He makes introductions—a tech CEO whose name I immediately forget, a hedge fund manager I've met before at a dozen similar events, a museum curator who apparently wants to discuss a potential donation.
I smile, shake hands, play the part. But my mind is still downtown, still with Emma.
Is she still in the meeting? That’s got to be a good sign that it’s going well. Or is she finished but crushed and doesn’t want to text me?
My hand drifts to my pocket, checking for my phone. I forced myself to turn off the ringer, but it's on vibrate. If Emma texts, I'll feel it.
The luncheon begins. Salads appear, followed by some kind of fish in a cream sauce. Speeches are made, praising various attendees for their charitable contributions. I only half-listen, nodding at appropriate moments.
Then Thomas is at the podium, talking about affordable housing, about making the city accessible to working families, about corporate responsibility. He's saying my name, gesturing to me.
I stand, accepting polite applause, and make my way to the front. I go through the motions: accept the crystal plaque Thomas hands me, heavy and expensive and utterly meaningless; make a brief speech about the importance of community investment; and smile warmly and make a joke or two.
The words come easily—I've given versions of this speech a hundred times. But they feel hollow today. Because what I really want to say is that I don't deserve awards for doing the bare minimum, for using a fraction of my wealth to help people who should never have been priced out of their own city in the first place.
But that's not how these things work. So I smile, thank Thomas and the Bellmore Foundation, and return to my seat to more applause.
The rest of the meal passes in a blur. Coffee, dessert, more speeches. I check my watch. One-fifteen. Emma's meetingmustbe over by now. Either she's celebrating or processing disappointment, and I'm stuck here, unable to be there for her.
I'm reaching for my phone, about to excuse myself to check for messages, when I see her.
Victoria.
She's across the ballroom, near the bar, her blonde hair styled in an elegant twist. She's wearing a navy dress that I recognize—vintage Chanel, the one she always said made her look powerful.
My entire body goes rigid.
What the hell is she doing here?
I watch as she laughs at something the man next to her says, one hand resting delicately on his arm. The gesture is casual, familiar, the kind of touch that suggests a relationship beyond mere acquaintances.
And that's when I see who she's talking to.
Lawrence Vance.
Lawrence Vance, the investor Emma pitched to this morning, is standing at the bar with my ex-wife, and they're talking like old friends.
Or maybe more than friends, based on the way Victoria is leaning in, the way he's smiling down at her.
This can't be a coincidence.
My mind races, trying to make sense of what I'm seeing. How does Victoria know Vance? Have they always been connected, and I just never noticed? Or is this new, something she cultivated specifically to?—
The thought freezes mid-formation because it makes no sense.
But Victoria sought Emma out at that café, delivered a calculated speech designed to undermine her confidence, to make her question our relationship.
And now she's here, at the same luncheon I'm attending, talking intimately with the man who may or may not be funding Emma’s dream.
That can’t be a coincidence. Can it?
I watch as Victoria says something that makes Vance laugh. She touches his arm again, and he covers her hand with his own. The gesture is brief but telling.
They're sleeping together.
My hands curl into fists beneath the table. Every instinct I have screams to march across the ballroom, to confront Victoria, to demand she stay the fuck away out of my life and away from the woman I love.
