Diamonds and Deception

Bella

I felt the cool weight of the diamonds as they pressed against my skin. In the mirror, his eyes met mine as he fastened the necklace himself.

“I need you to smile like you mean it tonight."

I immediately curved my lips the way I have been practicing and held it there.

It was the Blackwood's Foundation Annual Gala and every corner was filled with people in the grand ballroom of the Metropolitan Club in New York. It looked like a live constellation.

I stepped out of the car with my arms in his arms. The diamonds were still getting warmed on my skin. He remained close to me and the first camera flash went off before we even reached the steps.

"Mrs. Blackwood,” someone gasped in surprise, and the band slid over me like a second skin.

This time around, Alex's hand was still on the lower side of my back. It was like a mark of gentle territory. Every single person who came close enough acknowledged both of us.

I moved through the room just like I usually did on the other nights I had to pretend. I paid close attention to the current conversations as I passed and tried my best to remember the babes that were earlier drilled through me.

A senator’s wife laughed at something I said about the foundation’s coastal restoration project. A tech founder asked for my card even though I no longer had one. Alex’s eyes lingered around and on me without interrupting.

When a man from the finance board lingered a second too long on my face, Alex’s fingers pressed once against my spine and the man stepped back.

Halfway through the cocktail hour a journalist found us. She was polished, in her mid-thirties, recorder already discreetly on.

“The whirlwind marriage,” she said, smiling. “Everyone wants the real story. How did it actually happen?”

I didn’t look at Alex. I looked at her and cooked up a story I had no idea about.

“A coffee shop on the Upper East Side. That was on Tuesday in November. I spilled an entire latte down the front of his coat. He didn’t move. Just looked at the stain, then at me, and said, ‘I hope the coffee was worth it.’” I let the smallest laugh escape. “It wasn’t. It was terrible. But he still asked for my number.”

Alex’s voice came from just behind my shoulder, smooth and unhurried.

“She left before I could get it. I had to go back the next morning and wait until she ordered the same drink.”

Our eyes met over the journalist’s shoulder. Something passed between us like an agreement. It was a shared fiction.

I was surprised he tagged along with the fake story I just created, but I was bubbling inside of me because that was the most intimate thing we have mutually done without being drunk. It was more intimate than anything we’d done in private.

The journalist scribbled, delighted. “That’s perfect. Thank you both.”

She moved on. Alex’s hand returned to my back.

Everything felt scripted and I was so tired.

Later, near the silent auction tables, Ethan appeared at my side with a glass of sparkling water already poured. Condensation beaded against his fingers.

“You looked thirsty,” he said. It felt like he looked through me to have said that, not like I acted like it.

My pretense was on point!

I hadn’t asked. I hadn’t even reached for anything. He knew I wasn’t drinking champagne. The cold glass settled into my palm. For a second the diamonds on my neck felt heavier.

“Thank you,” I said coldly. It was so awkward.

He only nodded and stepped away again, disappearing into the crowd before anyone could notice how long he was standing there.

I was still holding the water when two women in emerald silk drifted close enough for me to hear.

“—Blackwood and the Ya girl. Three months of exclusive dinners and then nothing. Now this?” One of them tilted her champagne flute toward me without looking.

“A wedding no one saw coming. Something must have happened.”

“Or someone got what they wanted in writing,” the other replied.

I kept my face exactly as it had been. Took a slow sip of the sparkling water I was avoiding to take.

The bubbles stung the roof of my mouth. Somewhere beneath the music I heard the soft, steady sound of a heartbeat on a monitor. Somewhere else a number Valerie had spoken still sat in the air between us. I adjusted the bracelet on my wrist and moved on.

The evening stretched and finally thinned. I was deeply exhausted. I was pregnant.

I was really pregnant. Honestly, most times I forgot. I always acted like I wasn't pregnant.

I was finally happy to be leaving and we left through a side entrance. The car door shut with a solid, thudding sound. City lights streamed past the windows in long white ribbons.

Alex sat with his shoulder angled toward the door, not looking at me.

“You were extraordinary tonight.”

The words were quiet. My hands rested in my lap, one still faintly damp from the glass. Something shifted under my rib and I looked down at the diamonds scattered across my fingers and said nothing.

This and being in prison was not anything different. I was fed.

His phone buzzed against the leather seat. He picked it up, read whatever was on the screen. His jaw tightened once, almost too small to notice. Then he turned the phone face-down.

“Change of plans,” he said. “I need to make a stop.”

I was swimming in the confusion of everything. My brows furrowed as I mumbled to find the right words to say to him.

I drifted my head to each side of his movement, “What exactly has happened?" I finally uttered.

Before I could get a response, the car turned left at the next light. I watched the street signs slide by until I recognized the brownstone with the black iron railing and the single window still lit on the second floor.

Valerie’s street.