That makes him smile. His eyes sparkle under the dim light. My heart skips a beat. It’s going to be a long night denying what’s always been real between us. It’s always been physical with Cody from the very beginning. I used to think it was just me, but now I know better.
“Come. Dinner’s waiting.”
He holds my hands, walking backwards into the house. And then he drops an arm, turns around, and pulls me through the foyer.
My heart aches as he pulls me through the house I thought I’d never step foot in again.
Don’t cry.
Don’t cry.
Don’t cry.
I’m crying.
Cody’s hand is warm in mine, and his hair falls in a fresh cut. I didn’t think I would experience him ever again, and now I’m crying because I’m forced to pretend. I’m holding his hand when I know he’s cheated on me. How long am I going to keep up this act?
He turns around, and his expression softens right before it hardens.
“Adela,” he whispers, pulling me into a hug. “It’s okay.”
I don’t whimper, don’t make a sound, but I let him hold me. I let him think it’s because he’s alive and well.
He cups my face into his hands and kisses my forehead. Then he’s drying my tears. “Ready to eat?”
I nod, halting the tears.
The dining room is the same as it's always been — dark wood, high ceilings, the portrait of Judge Ravenshaw's father above the fireplace that used to make me feel watched.
The table is set for two, the way it's been set for two before, on the anniversaries, on the nights Cody wanted to do something that felt significant.
Candles. Good China. The wine is already open.
I sit in the chair he pulls out for me in my usual spot, the one on the left, the one I've sat in so many times before. I feel myself shiver.
He sits across from me and pours the wine. He looks at me with those familiar eyes, and something in my stomach turns over.
"To being alive," he says.
I lift my glass. "To being alive."
We drink.
"Okay." He sets his glass down and leans forward, elbows on the table. "Tell me everything. Everything I missed. My dad’s not here to breathe down your neck about my health. I need the real version, not the hospital version."
I laugh a little. "The hospital version was the real version."
"You were performing for my dad."
"I was not."
"Adela." He gives me the look. "I know you."
Something moves through me at that. I have to cheer this conversation up; otherwise, the night’s not going to end well. Ireach for my glass. "Fine. The real version is that I cried a lot more than I admitted to, and I ate a truly embarrassing amount of takeout. Maeve came, and we watched every season of a show I'm not going to tell you about because you'll judge me."
The side of his mouth lifts. "Which show?"
"I'm not telling you."
