Helen O'Brien

“Congratulations.” I said it to Penelope Hayes, my husband’s latest favorite. She froze. The relatives gathered around to watch the spectacle fell silent. Today was a family gathering at the Croft estate. In front of everyone, my husband, Julian, had just announced that the hostess of this year’s Founders’ Gala would, once again, not be me—his wife of five years—but Penelope. All of Charleston society was waiting for my fifth annual breakdown. Waiting for me to scream and claw at my husband like a madwoman over the empty title of “Mrs. Croft.” But I only smiled. Because I had been waiting for this day, too. For five years. My brother, Liam, ever the pragmatist, had made a deal with me long ago. If Julian humiliated me like this for five years in a row, I had to pack my bags and go home with him. Tonight was the deadline. … My composure clearly stung Julian. He personally removed the sapphire earrings from my ears, then turned and fastened them onto Penelope. “These were always meant for her.” Then Penelope, right on cue, spilled a glass of red wine on me, her eyes waiting for me to lose my temper. I just brushed at the stain on my dress and smiled at her. “You’ll catch a chill in a wet dress. Should I have a maid bring you a shawl?” I saw Julian’s face darken. His little game of public humiliation had lost its power over me. He thought this was the fifth time he had successfully tamed the “wild mare” from Texas. He was wrong. This was never a test. This was the funeral I had prepared for him, and for the entire rotten Croft family. … I didn’t wait for Penelope to answer. I simply waved over a maid and even instructed her personally to use soda water and a white cloth to carefully treat the wine stains on Penelope’s hem. When it was done, I untied the cheap silk scarf Julian had tossed at me moments before as “compensation.” “And this,” I said, handing it to Penelope. “This color suits your dress much better.” I smiled, playing the part of the gracious hostess looking after her guest. Penelope clearly hadn’t expected that. For a moment, she was at a complete loss. Julian, however, frowned. His voice dropped. “Elara, who gave you permission to give away something I gave you?” I looked up at him. My voice wasn’t loud, but it carried through the silent living room. “She’s hardly a stranger.” I paused, my gaze sweeping over him and the “real” Charleston sweetheart at his side. “Isn’t she the hostess of the Croft family tonight?” For a moment, Julian had no answer. His eyes went dark, like the currents churning beneath a Lowcountry swamp. I stood. “Excuse me. I’m going upstairs to change.” I could feel Julian’s stare like a nail in my back all the way up the stairs. Only when the bedroom door clicked shut behind me did my chest tighten. After I changed, my phone vibrated on the vanity. An encrypted message. From my brother, Liam. “Five years, Elara. You lost the bet. Emergency plan activated. Come home.” I stared at the text. The nerve that had been stretched taut for five years finally snapped, and my eyes began to burn. I didn’t even have time to reply. A pair of cold hands settled on my waist. Julian pressed himself against my back, a low, satisfied laugh rumbling in his chest. “I knew you were faking it. If you really didn’t care, why would you be hiding in here crying?” I quickly blanked the screen before he could see the message. “I was just thinking about how ugly I’ve acted.” Looking back on the last five years, I had lost control so many times I barely recognized myself. He turned my face toward him and kissed my tears away, a punishing sort of kiss. His eyes were bright with the triumph of a man who believed he had finally broken something wild. “Now you know how you’ve embarrassed me for years.” He seemed to enjoy my vulnerability. His fingers traced my lips, ......