New York Billionaires Series

My temple, and only briefly, but still.

And it was not something we’d agreed upon beforehand.

“Victor,” I say. “If you think I’ll be happy to be-”

“Mr. St. Clair,” a man interrupts. “And this, of course, has to be the new Mrs. St. Clair?”

“Yes,” Victor says and there’s his arm again, sliding around my waist with no thought to his self-preservation. “Good to see you here, Hadley.”

“Likewise.” The man gives me a hesitant smile. He’s middle-aged, a camera in hand. “Mind if I take a picture of the two of you in front of the, uh, painting here?”

“Not at all,” Victor says, turning to me. “Hadley works at the Post .”

I put on my widest smile, because Victor or no Victor, we’re doing this for Nadine. The camera flashes and I step away from him as soon as Hadley lowers it.

“What do you think of the art?” I ask Hadley. “Don’t you just love the colors?”

That launches an hour of networking so intense, I have no chance to tell Victor off about his domineering. In my mind, all I can hear is the sound of his bedroom door, slamming at night, as he disappears out of his apartment.

But he has the nerve to kiss my temple, or to react like he did last night, when I mentioned flirting.

I give Nadine a massive hug when I see her. She thanks Victor in an earnest tone, but then she’s gone again, swept away in the tide of visitors. Tonight is her time to shine, and everyone wants a piece of her.

We’re alone in front of Temperance when I get my shot. “That wasn’t fair, what you did back there. Or the way you reacted last night.”

Victor turns flat, blue eyes my way. “Elaborate.”

“We never agreed to be celibate or monogamous.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“Yes, I bet you are,” I say. “But that cuts both ways, dear husband.”

“I’m aware,” he repeats, eyes narrowing. “But that doesn’t mean you can flirt in a room full of people who belong to New York’s art elite, many with cameras and here to report. Think of how that would look.”

“I was having a conversation.”

“With someone whose closet you’re already planning to organize,” Victor says, his voice dropping low with anger. “Or was that not him? Are you still waiting to be set up with your Prince Charming?”

“I’m not being set up with anyone. It was a dumb suggestion and one I shouldn’t have mentioned to you, clearly. But that’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point, Cecilia? Explain it to me.”

I step closer, eyes darting to the couple by our side. I don’t want to be overheard. “You spend several nights away every single week. I’ve told you I know about it before, and you didn’t deny it. Why is it okay for you to be involved with someone but not for me? It’s not as if a single conversation with someone here would make front-page news. Your fragile masculinity would remain intact, I’m sure.”

Victor’s voice is sharp. “What exactly do you think I do at night?”

“Do you want me to spell it out for you?”

“Yes, I think I do.”

“If you get to have sex, I get to have sex,” I say. The word sex feels like it echoes in the grand space. I glance around, but no one is looking at us.

“Sex,” Victor says. His voice is midnight. “Myers, I haven’t had sex since I married you. Which, if you recall, was several months ago.”

He sounds like that’s a painful revelation. “I recall. I was there.”

“Good. So whatever you think you’re accusing me of, I assure you, it’s not that.”

“Then where do you go at night?”

His jaw works, and then he turns away from me, looking out at the crowd. “As soon as we leave, I’ll show you.”

The drive is taut with silence. He’d taken the car himself, and looking at him from the corner of my eye, I wonder if the reason is to have something to do. A machine beneath his hands and a road to watch.

We haven’t spoken since he got behind the wheel, taking us further and further out of the city. The skyscrapers turn to mid-rises that soon shrink into glorious suburbia.

The wide streets we drive through are tree-lined. I glimpse electronic gates and pools behind fences. Old Victorian houses and charmingly cracked pavement only enhance the wealth that hides behind these hedges.

I’ve never been to this area of Long Island.

I look out the window and speak for the first time since we left the gallery. “Are we going to visit a relative of yours? I might be overdressed.”

Victor gives a harsh chuckle. “In a way, yes.”

“Oh. You’re sure I’m not overdressed?”

“You’re not overdressed,” he says. There’s a brief pause. “I’m in a suit, Cecilia.”

Funny, how in my head, that’s what he always wears. Even in the comfort of his own home, I’ve only seen him in suits, heading to work or returning home from it.

He turns onto a smaller street. The pavement is smooth here, and giant oaks line it, their trunks too big to wrap my arms around. The car slows to a crawl outside a property and he turns onto its driveway. A giant wrought-iron gate swings open on electronic hinges.

The house is enormous.

That’s my first impression. Enormous and Victorian and beautiful, with shutters and a wrap-around porch. Boxwood hedges line the building and give way to a stone staircase, slick with leaves. Behind the house I glimpse a lawn that stretches toward tall trees. No neighbors nearby.

“Wow. This house is…”

Victor parks the car. “It’s a lot of things.”

The air feels thick out here, smelling of fall and rain and nature. We walk toward the porch and scare a squirrel. It darts across the lawn.

“This is your grandfather’s house?”Ccontent © exclusive by Nô/vel(D)ra/ma.Org.

“Yes.” He unlocks the front door, and just like that, everything makes sense. This is where he goes at night. This is where he grieves, even if he’d never call it that.

He won’t look at me. I wonder if he’s regretting this. That I’m here and witness to so much of him. But as I step into the wood-paneled entryway, his dry voice becomes that of a guide. Telling me about the property and the rooms.