Chapter 4 Brazenly Unapologetic

“Hey, look, isn’t that Devon?” Serena asked aloud, with sudden interest. “Who’s that woman with him?”

Clara craned her neck to look at the entrance to the center. A second later, curiosity gave way to recognition, and then to the sort of smile that made every private matter feel like something laid out for public entertainment.

“Oh,” she said, drawing the word out. “That’s Caroline, isn’t it? The one Devon used to…”

Serena understood at once.

Her gaze shifted toward Romy, and the sympathy that appeared on her face was so exaggerated it became cruel.

“Wait,” Serena said, lowering her voice without bothering to make it truly quiet. “You didn’t follow Devon here, did you? God, Romy. That’s actually sad.”

Clara chuckled, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Imagine chasing your own husband, to spy on his date.”

Romy heard them.

She also heard what they had not yet said aloud: that her husband and his first love had come here together, brazenly unapologetic, as if there were nothing strange about it at all.

No one seemed especially concerned by that.

Romy rested one hand against the tiled edge of the pool and kept her face turned toward the lane rope in front of her. The water moved gently against her shoulders, cool and steady. She could pretend she had not heard. She had become good at that inside the Kensington family.

At the entrance, Devon Kensington stood in a dark grey lightweight sweater, the sleeves pushed up to his forearms. In one hand, he carried a woman’s handbag and a thermos; with the other, he hovered near Caroline’s waist, not quite touching her, yet the shape of his body around hers was more intimate than any open embrace would have been.

Caroline wore a cream-colored tennis dress and flat ballet shoes. Her hair was gathered loosely at the back of her head, soft tendrils framing a face made delicate by careful paleness. Everything about her suggested fragility without disorder, as if even weakness had been arranged to flatter her. Her stomach was still flat beneath the dress, with no visible sign of pregnancy, but every few steps her right hand drifted lightly over it, a gesture small enough to seem unconscious and precise enough to be noticed.

Romy felt Devon look over at her.

She knew his gaze too well, not because he looked at her often, but because he rarely did. During their marriage, she had learned to catch those brief moments the way one caught light glinting on glass—quickly, before it vanished.

This time, it lasted no more than two seconds.

Then he looked away.

“Careful,” he said to Caroline, his voice low and close. “The floor’s wet.”

Caroline smiled up at him, and Devon adjusted his step to match hers.

He did not come over. He did not ask why Romy was there. He did not offer even the ordinary surprise a husband might show upon finding his wife alone at a swimming pool the morning after he had failed to come home.

He simply guided Caroline toward the warm-up pool.

Caroline held lightly to his arm as she crossed the anti-slip mats. She did not enter the water; instead, she lowered herself onto a lounge chair near the poolside, the tips of her shoes resting a careful distance from the splash zone. Devon set the thermos within her reach, took a clean towel from a nearby rack, and spread it across her knees with the unthinking ease of a man accustomed to doing such things for her.

The gesture was not grand. This was habit.

Caroline lifted her eyes in Romy’s direction. There was something difficult to name in her expression. Not triumph exactly, and not guilt either.

She touched the back of Devon’s hand and said quietly, “Should you go and say something to your wife? She’s there alone.”

The sentence was perfectly phrased. Considerate, even. Anyone overhearing it would have thought Caroline kind.

Romy’s fingers tightened against the tile.

Devon did not move. He poured warm tea from the the thermos into the cup, and handed it to Caroline before answering.

“No. I’m sure she’s here to exercise. She won’t want to be disturbed.”

Romy lowered her eyes to the pool water.

So, he did know.

He knew why she was here, or at least enough to make an excuse out of it. He had seen her, understood her presence, and chosen not to cross the few yards between them.

She pushed away from the wall and swam another lap.

The movement was not as smooth as it used to be. Her shoulders resisted. Her breath caught too early. By the time she reached the end of the lane, her arms trembled beneath the water, but she turned anyway and kept going, because stopping would mean giving up still under their eyes.

When she finally finished a round and climbed out, water streamed from her body and left a trail of dark footprints across the tile. She took the towel she had left over the rail and wrapped it around her shoulders, keeping her head slightly lowered as she made her way toward the changing room.

There was no route that did not pass the warm-up pool.

Serena and Clara had moved down from the spectators’ seats and were now sitting near Caroline as if the three of them had arranged to meet there all along. Clara held up her phone, angling it for photographs. Serena leaned close to Caroline with the bright, confidential air of a girl who loved being near a scandal as long as she was not the subject of it.

Devon stood beside Caroline’s chair.

When Clara urged, “Lean closer, Devon, I want to take a photo of you two,” he did not refuse. He merely shifted, placing himself partly between Caroline and the pool, shielding her from the spray as a training group moved past in the next lane.

Caroline then seemed laugh of Clara's jokes. She playfully nudged Devon, but Devon didn't move out of the way.

As Romy passed, Caroline looked up again. Their eyes met for the space of a breath.

Then Caroline turned to Devon and murmured quietly. “She really doesn’t resent me, does she? That’s good. I was worried she might feel uncomfortable.”

Romy’s steps slowed before she could stop them.

The changing-room door was just ahead. She could have kept walking. She should have kept walking. But Caroline’s voice followed, soft and sincere, each word placed with care.

“After all, she saved your life. Sometimes I think, if it hadn’t been for her, you wouldn’t be here now, and neither would this baby.” Caroline paused, and when she spoke again, the guilt in her tone was delicate enough to be admired. “I should be grateful to her. Do you think there’s anything I could do for her?”

Devon was half bent beside her chair, one hand braced on the back of it. From a distance, they looked like a couple discussing private plans.

“You don’t need to do anything for her,” Devon said. His voice was gentle, but a little tired. “She doesn’t need it.”

Caroline paused for a few seconds, then finally decided to stop Romy.

Then she smiled, warm and apologetic, with just enough hesitation to make the invitation seem generous rather than pointed.

“Romy,” she called softly. “Would you like to sit with us for a while?”

Serena and Clara turned at once.

Devon lifted his head only after them.

Caroline’s smile did not falter. “It’s warmer over here by the pool. You must be cold after swimming.” Her hand smoothed the towel across her knees, a modest little movement that drew attention to it without appearing to. “Devon got me a dry towel. I’m sure there’s another one nearby.”

Romy stood a few steps from them, her own towel clutched around her shoulders, wet hair against her neck. For a moment, she simply looked at Caroline.

There was no accusation in Caroline’s face. That was what made it so difficult to answer. She had offered kindness in the exact shape of humiliation, and to reject it openly would only make Romy appear ungrateful.

So Romy did not answer.

She turned toward the changing room.

Behind her, the small silence that followed was more awkward than any refusal. Caroline’s smile had been left hanging in the air, too public to be withdrawn gracefully.

Devon finally spoke.

“Have you finished your swim, Romy?” he asked.

His tone was neutral, almost courteous, as if they had met at a business function and not in the middle of a life he had divided so neatly between wife and lover.

Romy paused with one hand on the towel at her shoulder.

“Yes.”

She gave him nothing more. Not because she felt strong, but because anything else would have shaken when it came out.

Devon looked at her for another moment. His grey-blue eyes held no panic, no shame, only that familiar distance he wore so well. Then his gaze moved back to Caroline, as naturally as if Romy had been no more than someone passing through.

Romy continued toward the changing room.

Serena’s voice came from behind her, lowered but still clear. “Why did she just leave? She barely answered Devon.”

“What would she say?” Clara murmured. “She looks like a ghost.”

Caroline sighed, the sound soft enough to pass for kindness. “Don’t say that. It can’t be easy for her.”