Did he want to belittle me or make me feel small?
As he opened the door, I stood in the hallway with my phone held up, screen facing him.
On it was the Instagram post, with specifically, the comment section, which had apparently grown considerably since I’d last looked at it.
I was furious with how the picture painted me.
“Forty-seven thousand likes,” I said to him.
For some reason, he smiled while I continued.
“In four hours.
Do you want to know what they’re saying in the comments?” “I have a general idea.” “People think this is real.” I said with an edge in my tone that took him by surprise.
“They think I am so deathly in love with you, starstruck even!
They think I am the one -,” I stopped myself.
They think I am the one chasing you.
I could only complete the statement in my thoughts.
“This wasn’t part of the arrangement.
This isn’t staged content, this is someone’s candid photograph of me looking at you like-” I stopped myself from speaking again.
Like I am in love of something.
Zane stared at me for a long moment before speaking again.
“Like what?” he asked.
I lowered the phone, letting the hallway settle into quiet.
“Like it’s real,” I said quietly even when that was not exactly how I wanted to say it.
He leaned against the doorframe.
“Maybe it’s because it is.” He said softly, pushing a strand of hair behind my ear.
I glared at him, utterly flabbergasted.
The audacity and hubris of this man!
But for the first time in a while, I was tongue tied and didn’t have a comeback for that.
Maybe because there wasn’t one.
“You need to take it down.” I gritted out, stepping away from him.
“I didn’t post it.” “Then whoever posted it needs to take it down.
Right now.
Today.” Zane looked at me from his doorway trying to be patient with me which was somehow more infuriating than when he wasn’t.
“It’s a photograph someone took at a public event.
I have no control over what strangers post on the internet.” “You have people.
Have your people contact their people.
Send a legal request.
I don’t care what it takes.” I insisted, sounding more frantic than I’d intended.
“Sloane.” “Don’t say my name like that.” I flared.
He frowned.
“Like what?” “Like I’m overreacting.” Zane said nothing.
Which was exactly the same as saying I was overreacting.
“You could have not gone to that event,” I said to the wall.
“Or stood differently.
Or,” “You want me to be held legally responsible for where your eyes were pointing at a party?” “I want the photo off the internet.” I corrected.
“It has forty-seven thousand likes.
It’s been shared twelve hundred times.
It is not coming off the internet.” I turned around and faced him again.
His mouth curled up into a smirk.
The same one that pissed me off so much, I always considered smacking it off his face.
“You’ve fallen for me,” he said with the confidence of a mule.
I scoffed, pretending to be unfazed by his conclusion.
“Why the hell would you think that?,” “Not me, the internet thinks so.” he was smiling now.
“Well, the internet is wrong.” “Is it?” He tilted his head.
“Because you came to my room at seven in the morning to yell at me about a photograph of yourself.
The only reason that photograph would upset you this much is if it showed something you didn’t want shown.” The hallway was very quiet for a moment.
But I had the perfect comeback for it.
“I came to your room,” I said carefully, “because that photograph is a PR liability and, it has forty-seven thousand likes.” Our eyes locked for a brief momen t.
He was listening intently so I continued.
“It creates a narrative that we cannot sustain when we return to Seattle and resume-,” “Sixty-three thousand now.
Henry just texted.” Zane said, said interrupting me.
I stopped talking.
He was still watching me with that hint of a smile, and I hated him, I genuinely and specifically hated him for.
I also understood that the reason I hated him was because he was probably right and I had no response that would adequately cover that.
“I’m going for a walk,” I announced out of nowhere, choosing to not continue with this conversation.
“Enjoy it.” I decided to walk along the beach, touch some sand, feel the breeze and try to clear my head.
Keyword; try.
By noon, the photograph had crossed a hundred thousand likes.
My PR lead called forty minutes later, barely containing whatever she was feeling.
“The engagement on this post is unlike anything we’ve had.
People are calling you relationship goals.
The comments are…” There was a pause while she scrolled.
“One of the top ones says I’ve watched this woman fall in love with her husband in real time and I have never felt more hopeful about marriage.” I said nothing.
“Sloane?” “Send me the full report,” I said.
“I’ll review it.” I should have been pleased because every metric my PR team cared about was moving in the right direction.
The board was finally quiet and Veronica’s latest press statement had been buried under content that made our marriage look exactly as it needed to look.
But, the problem was the photograph had captured something real.
Gosh, Sloane, why would you let yourself be so caught off guard!
I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
I went back inside, sat at my laptop, and answered seventeen emails in two hours with a focus that I was using as a wall to block him out of my thoughts.
The last three days felt like a countdown.
I knew this rationally that the end of the trip meant Seattle, Reed Industries, the committee and the board and the real work this marriage existed to protect.
And I was relieved.
I had been looking forward to going home since the morning I found my devices hidden.
And, I had gotten to the point where I couldn’t wait to go back home and back to my real life.
I avoided him for most of the last three days, giving as much distance as I could that manifested in things like taking breakfast early, staying in my room to work in the afternoons, keeping interactions within the functional and brief range.
And he let me be, which was a problem of its own.
Meanwhile, news from Seattle was getting worse.
Maya’s updates were coming twice daily.
Veronica had escalated everything.
She had gotten a new lawyer and was trying to push for a formal committee review while still contacting two board members privately.
The ground I’d secured was holding but she was digging as hard as she could.
I sat on my balcony on the last night of the vacation, reading through everything.
She was not going to stop.
I already knew that.
I needed to be prepared to fight tooth and nail to keep what was mine.
The villa was quiet by eleven.
I had said a brief goodnight to Zane somewhere around ten, civilly, nothing that would undo the distance I’d spent three days building and gone to my room.
But I couldn’t sleep.
At midnight, I got up and moved to the window.
The valley below was dark and still.
I stood there thinking about nothing in particular, just letting my mind settle, when I heard his voice.
It was low.
The timbre of it carried through the wall that separated our rooms.
He was on a call.
I couldn’t make out most of it.
Just fragments of his tone, cadence and a pause that suggested he was listening to someone on the other end.
I wasn’t trying to hear, in fact I moved away from the wall, toward the bathroom to give him privacy, and then his voice came through more clearly as he crossed to the other side of his room.
Three sentences.
I caught the last one whole.
“I don’t think she knows what I’m hiding.” I stood completely still.
The voice on the other end responded.
His answer was lower, and I couldn’t make out the words, and then I heard his footsteps moving away, the sound of his bedroom door and then nothing.
I stood there in the dark of my room, his words sitting in my chest like something cold.
I don’t think she knows what I’m hiding.
I replayed the words over and over.
We were going home tomorrow.
And I needed to know what my husband was hiding.