THE REAL REASON FOR THE DRESSES

The apology I wanted to give stuck in my throat and my smile died down underneath his searching eyes. He looks up and down my body like he's searching for an injury.

A few seconds later, the concern leaves his eyes as he finds nothing.

"What were you thinking, Venice?!" He questioned sharply.

"Why didn't you come home?" His eyes cut past me toward the studio entrance, jaw tight, a muscle ticking along the side of it. "And what were you doing in there?"

"Passing by." My voice comes out flatter than I mean it to. "I wanted a look inside, so I did."

I wasn't going to tell him about my plans, not after all that has happened in the past two days.

He doesn't press it. Instead he reaches for my bag and pulls my phone out before I can stop him. He unlocks it with ease, because my password isn't a secret to him...nothing in my life is. His thumb swipes down the screen, scrolling through the missed calls with a frown etched into his features.

"Do you know how worried I was? Why didn't you answer any of these?" He looks up, brow furrowed, genuinely confused, like the answer isn't standing right in front of him with a scar down the side of her face. "You're usually so understanding, Venice. Why are you being difficult this time?"

The word difficult sits under my ribs like a stone dropped straight down. My hands curl into fists inside my coat pockets, nails digging into my palm as I struggle to remain steady.

"Should I have let your friends continue to humiliate me too?" My voice shakes on the last word, and I hate that it does, hate that he can still make my voice do that after everything.

"You can't control what other people say." He says it evenly, patient, like he's explaining something obvious to a child.

"No." My hands curl at my sides, nails biting into my palms hard enough to leave crescents. "I can't. But you could have. They're your friends. Instead you sat there with your arm around her like she was your wife and you laughed with them!"

His eyes dart around, turning cloudy in an instant as he grabs my arm.

"Don't talk about Liz like that." His voice cracks sharp, faster than I've ever heard it sharpen for me. "Especially not publicly. It'll hurt her reputation."

There it is. Complete proof that the last six years have been nothing but obligation and guilt to him. It has always been her. She's the only person who gets that passion in his eyes, that sharpness in his voice.

I has never been me.

It will never be me.

Soren sighs and loosens his grip, his arm going around my waist and pulling me closer.

"I'll let it slide this time." His voice softens, eyes going back to that warmth he shared so well.. "I won't hold this stunt you pulled against you either. You must be hungry." His thumb caressed the unscarred part of my face gently. "Come on — I'll take you somewhere you like, we'll eat your favorites."

I don't know why I get in the car, sliding across the leather seat while he holds the door, unable to resist when his eyes get like that. Apologetic, affectionate and demanding all at once.

Maybe because I still have something to say to him, and it might as well happen over food I don't have to cook myself.

The restaurant is one I recognize but haven't sat in for years, tucked into a quiet corner with private booths and low light that created a rather calming atmosphere.

The hostess lot up at the sight of Soren and she welcomed him while he asked for his usual seat.

I can't remember the last time we ate out together, just the two of us. He's always careful about being seen anywhere he might run into someone he knows while with me.

The waiter takes our order, and Soren rattles off a list without asking me a single thing, barely glancing at the menu he already has memorized. Shellfish, mostly sea food and garnishes and sauces with peanuts as ingredients. Dishes I can't touch without my throat closing, all of them his preferences, none of them mine.

"You'll like these." He hands the menu back to the waiter before I can add anything of my own, not once looking my way for confirmation.

I hold my breath, throat tight, watching him hand the menu back without a second glance, and decide there's no better moment than this one.

"I want a divorce."

He laughs, low and easy, reaching for a clean plate like I've said something amusing over dinner. He peels a shrimp with careful, practiced hands, deveining it before setting it on a folded napkin in front of me. "You're still upset about last night? Don't be." He sighs "And don't talk nonsense. How would you even survive without me?"

"I mean it, Soren." My voice doesn't shake this time.

"Stop making a scene." He looks up from the shrimp now, voice cold, then smooths back into something bored, eyes flicking toward the next table like he's checking who might have heard. "I canceled three meetings to be here with you. Elizabeth is just a friend — she wants to be close to you too, if you'd let her."

A laugh scrapes out of me, humorless, loud enough that his jaw tightens.

"Just a friend? I saw how you held her last night...ow you defended her just because I didn't want to be the punchline to you and your friends' silly jokes! I have no intention of becoming friends with a woman who clearly can't keep her hands off MY husband." I sneer.

"Venice!" He slams the shrimp down into the plate, eyes burning through my skull like a branding iron. For her.

"I've told you not to speak about her that way!" He blows out a heavy breath, picking up the shrimp and looking at me with that soft gaze.

"Let's not talk about this anymore, hmm?" He nudges the plate closer to me, "Eat, please."

That's when Elizabeth walks in from the entrance, coat over one arm, heels clicking sharp against the floor, the whole room seeming to notice her the way it never once noticed me.

Her bright blue eyes spots our table immediately she smiles and makes her way to our booth.

"It's so nice to see you both here!" She looked genuinely delighted, but the look in her eyes when they met met unnerved me.

"These are all my favorites." She reaches across and steals a piece off Soren's plate with her fingers, licking the sauce off her thumb after. "You don't mind if I join, do you? I'm starving." She sits beside Soren before she gets a response, there's barely any air between their bodies.

Soren doesn't glance my way to check. He's already sliding the bread basket toward her.

So these are all her favorites. Not even Soren's?

She turns to him, smoothing her beautiful red dress with both hands, catching the light just right. "Does this look nice on me?"

"It does." His eyes linger on her longer than a few seconds, clear desire in those depths as he looks her up and down.

"It's from my favorite brand, Padòn." She tilts her head, smiling.

Soren nods. "I know."

"Oh Soren," she giggled, "You always did have great taste."

I recognize the dress before she finishes the sentence. Red, the neckline cut just so — the exact piece that hung on my closet door on our anniversary, still folded in tissue in the back of my closet, tags untouched. My chest goes cold, a slow drop like missing a step in the dark. Every one of those dresses, every year, was never chosen with me in mind. They were chosen for a woman who fit them the way Elizabeth is fitting this one right now.

They fall into easy conversation, heads bent close, her laugh carrying across the table like I'm not even sitting at it. Soren refills her water glass without being asked, fingers brushing hers as he sets the pitcher back down. He hasn't refilled mine once since we sat down.

My stomach turns, a hard twist beneath my ribs. I push my chair back.

"Excuse me." Neither of them looks up long enough to notice I've gone.

In the restroom I run the tap over my hands longer than I need to, watching the water instead of my own face in the mirror, letting it run until it scalds, until my skin goes pink under the heat.

"Venice?"

I turn at the sound of my name.