I lean closer to the bathroom mirror, carefully applying the red lipstick Henri loves. Two coats, blotted, then a third for staying power. My hands are steady despite the anticipation thrumming through my veins.
It's been three days since we were together in his hotel room, and my body still remembers every touch.
"Fifteen minutes until Adrian arrives," I tell myself, checking my phone. The twins are already dressed in their going-out outfits. Adrian bought them last week that probably cost more than my monthly groceries.
Their overnight bags are packed with military precision: bottles, formula, diapers, changes of clothes, favorite toys. I've already texted Henri that I'm running a few minutes late.
His response was typically charming: "Every minute without you is torture, ma chérie. But you're worth the wait."
Underneath my wrap dress, easy to remove, I'd thought with a blush, I'm wearing the new lingerie I bought yesterday. Black lace that cost more than I should have spent.
But the way Henri had looked at me last time, the way he'd whispered "magnifique" against my skin... I want that again. I need it.
The doorbell rings exactly on time. Adrian's nothing if not punctual.
I open the door expecting our usual cold handoff, him taking the twins with barely a word, me closing the door on his back, but he stands there with an expression I haven't seen since our married days.
That look that means he's made a decision and won't be moved. My stomach drops.
"We're visiting my parents for the weekends," he says without preamble. "All four of us. They want to meet their grandchildren."
The words land like bombs, each one detonating in my chest. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me. My parents have been asking about the twins since they were born. It's time."
"You can't just announce this," I say, my voice rising. "I have plans, Adrian. You should have asked, not demanded. We agreed on schedules…"
"Plans can be changed," he says, his tone infuriatingly calm. "This is important."
"Important to who? You didn't think your parents were important when you were telling me to abort these babies. You didn't think they were important when you accused me of cheating."
My hands are shaking now, fury making me reckless. "I have a life, Adrian. You can't just commandeer my Saturday because you've decided to play happy family."
His eyes narrow, and I watch him take in my appearance with the calculating gaze I know so well.
My carefully styled hair that took forty minutes to perfect, the red lipstick that's not my usual shade, the dress that clings in all the right places. He knows this look.
We were married for seven years; he knows exactly who it's for.
"Is it more important to you to fuck with some French dude than to spend time with your family?" The words are sharp enough to cut, delivered with surgical precision.
The slap of them makes me gasp. "How dare you…"
"How dare I what? Point out the obvious? You're dressed for a date, Elena. You reek of perfume. That's not your everyday lipstick."
His jaw clenches. "So yes, I'm asking you to change your plans to introduce our children to their grandparents. The French guy can wait one day."
"My family is the twins," I fire back, my voice shaking with rage. "Just them. Not you. Unfortunately, not your parents anymore. And Henri…"
I pause, letting his name hang in the air like a weapon, "Henri could eventually become the husband you couldn't be. He wants to be with me. And my kids."
The silence that follows is suffocating. I watch Adrian's face do something I've never seen in seven years of marriage—it crumbles.
For just a second, maybe two, his mask completely falls, and I see raw hurt flash across his features. Real, genuine pain that I caused. Then, like a switch flipping, his expression goes blank, controlled, the CEO mask sliding back into place.
"I'll wait in the car," he says quietly, his voice devoid of emotion. He bends to pick up the twins' bags, not meeting my eyes. "Five minutes."
He walks out without another word, leaving me standing in my doorway, victory tasting like ash in my mouth. The look on his face, that momentary devastation, is burned into my memory.
I've seen Adrian angry, cold, dismissive, cruel. But I've never seen him look wounded. Not like that.
I had every right to hurt him, I tell myself. After what he did to me, after the months of silence, after the accusation and abandonment. He deserved it.
But the guilt gnaws at my chest like acid.
I pull out my phone and text Henri, another lie flowing easily now: "Family emergency. My sister needs me. We're all going to visit our parents. I'm so sorry. Rain check?"
His response is immediate and understanding: "Of course, ma chérie. Family comes first. I'll be thinking of you. Perhaps dinner on Monday instead? With a continuation, I hope."
"Perfect, can’t wait. I'll make it up to you."
"I'll hold you to that. Give your sister my best."
I stare at the text, at his kindness built on my deception, and feel sick. How many more lies can I tell before he stops believing them? How many more family emergencies before he starts asking questions Adrian won't let me deflect?
I strip off the wrap dress, hanging it carefully back in the closet. The black lace underneath mocks me—who was I kidding, thinking I could have that life?
I pull on a new dress appropriate for meeting grandparents—navy blue, knee-length, conservative neckline. But I leave the lingerie underneath on.
A small rebellion, a tiny secret that's just mine. Something to remind me that somewhere in this mess, I'm still a woman who chose expensive lingerie for a man who desires her.
Outside, Adrian sits in the Bentley's driver's seat, staring straight ahead. I approach the car with twins, Adrian helps me secure them in the back without looking at me even once.
Twins are gurgling happily, oblivious to the destruction between their parents. I slide into the passenger seat, and the silence is deafening, heavy with everything we're not saying. Adrian starts the car, still not looking.
We drive toward Connecticut in silence, the only sounds our children's baby talk and the quiet hum of the engine.
I stare out the window, the black lace under my clothes a secret armor against the guilt, against the memory of Adrian's face crumbling.
My phone buzzes. Henri again: "Missing you already."
I turn it face down without responding, catching Adrian's eyes tracking the movement.
His jaw tightens, but he says nothing, and we continue driving toward his parents' house. How much longer I can keep all these lives separate before they collide and destroy everything.