Page 37 of Iridescent
Xavier finally looks at me, a faint crease appearing between his dark brows. “Right,” he murmurs, as if the realization has only just caught up to him. “Lo siento, amor. I forgot.”
I forgot.
Two hollow words that drop into the space between us like stones.
I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek and say nothing.
Xavier’s chair scrapes against the floor as he stands. “Who served this?” he asks, lifting the bowl.
The room goes silent.
A footman rushes forward, head bowed.
My husband’s jaw tightens as he places the bowl into the man’s waiting hands. “My wife has a severe shellfish allergy. It should never have reached her.”
He pales, stammering an apology.
Xavier’s gaze sweeps over the room. “See that it doesn’t happen again.” He settles back into his seat, tugging at his tie. “Are you okay, amor?”
I nod.
I don’t know whether to feel grateful he took my side, or heartbroken he needed the reminder.
He doesn’t wait for my answer. He’s already turned back to Isabel, his attention caught by her story about her father’s vineyard outside Madrid.
Hours ago, we were talking about our future. Now he looks like a manrevisiting a past that never included me.
She laughs and touches his arm, her fingers resting there a moment too long.
He doesn’t pull away. No—he fucking smiles.
A slow, burning pressure builds in my chest, heat climbing up my throat.
He’s crossing a line.
He should know better.
The woman he married was never one to suffer humiliation in silence.
A hush falls as Alejandro rises partway from his seat, lifting his glass. "Una brindis,"he says in his warm Spanish baritone before switching to English with a proud smile. "A toast. To family, both those we have lost, and those we are blessed to have back among us tonight." His eyes find Isabel at that, and the entire table murmurs in agreement.
A chorus of "To family" rises as everyone lifts their glasses. Crystal clinks gently like tiny bells. I raise mine a beat late and take a sip, letting the dry red wine burn its way down my throat. The ache in my chest should be drowning in alcohol by now, but even four generous glasses in, I'm stone-cold sober. The pain refuses to be numbed.
"You must miss España, no?" one of the aunts says to Isabel as the toast subsides. "And your poor father, such a tragedy, Dios mío."
Isabel lowers her lashes. "Every day," she replies softly.
Guinevere reaches over to pat Isabel's hand, her eyes shining with sympathy. "Ma pauvre fille," she coos. My poor girl. “Stay as long as you need. This house is always yours."
Yours.A bitter lump rises in my throat. I’ve been under this roof for years, and Guinevere has never once implied the house was mine. I’m just the daughter-in-law. The guest, practically. But Isabel strolls back into their lives, and she’s welcomed like a beloved child.
An older uncle across the table winks in Isabel's direction. "If I didn't know any better," he chuckles, "I'd say our Xavier looks happier tonight than he's been in years." His eyes sparkle with teasing mirth. "Must be the good company, eh, mijo?"
Laughter bubbles around the table. Someone makes a good-natured whistle.Isabel demures with a blush, and Xavier rubs the back of his neck, the tips of his ears turning red.
I set my half-empty wine glass down very carefully before it cracks between my fingers. A rushing sound fills my ears. I know they’re all waiting for me to react, expecting a smile, a laugh—anything to make them comfortable. So I plaster on a grin I hope doesn’t look as fractured as it feels.
"He's happy because he's home," I interject, lifting my chin. My voice carries down the table, silencing a few chuckles. I turn the full wattage of my gaze on my husband and smile. “N'est-ce pas, mon amour?” Isn't that right my love?
