Page 108 of Perfect Satisfaction

Christ, she’s brilliant. I couldn’t help but notice how the fluidity of her words made the statements behind them more impactful.

Then I struck an internet treasure trove of photos. It was like walking through a time capsule of years of her life I wasn’t privy to. “You’re an idiot, Ronan. How did you not find these on your first search? You’d have ripped into someone else who worked for you for this same mistake.”

As I munched on a bowl of popcorn, I once again clicked through pictures of Sula with the Madison women at New York Fashion Week—including the ones from this year’s event. This time, I unearthed photos of her chortling at something the Secretary of Defense said at the White House captured by a political reporter in DC. Pictures of her solemn but dry-eyed at West Moore’s funeral. In those, men in dark suits flanked her on either side. I can only presume security by the way they leaned in to protect her delicate frame. Their faces were cut out of the shots.

Then there were the shots of her and Joshua Basset. I studied those closely noticing how Sula maintains a noticeable distance even from the man who has no qualms about calling her “love.”

Love. Shit. Isn’t that a British form of endearment?I hit my favorite search engine and groan aloud when I realize I’m right. “Christ, it can be used for everyone, from strangers to partners.”

Then the words she flung at me earlier ring through my head. “A life? Arek, you’re under the delusion I have one now.”

Is it true? What if I threw my marriage away for nothing?Not nothing, that insidious whisper reminds me.You did betray your wife by selling out her best friend, didn’t you?

A knot forms in my stomach as the heels she wears click against the concrete floors. Shock fills the air when she exclaims, “What on earth is this?”

“Surprise?” I offer. Still, I hold out the black hat with the tassel in her direction hesitantly.

She hesitates.

“Sula, someone should have been there to see you graduate from Harvard.”

Her head drops and her shoulders begin to shake. For long moments, the only movement are those delicate shoulders shaking and the flickering of the candles on the cake I managed to have rushed here with “Congratulations!” written across it.

She lifts her head and although her makeup is streaking down her face, she hasn’t looked more beautiful since the night we got married. The first real smile I’ve seen on her lips breaks across her face. “You did this for me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because when I watched you graduate from MIT, you looked lost.”

She physically jerks herself away from me. “You looked that up?”

I reach out to catch her on her death trap shoes. Daring to pull her elegantly garbed body against mine, I murmur against the top of her head, “Sula, I was in love with you. Of course I did. I wanted to know everything about you. Still do.”

I’m unprepared for what I hear out of her mouth next. “Liar.”

I lean back so I can see her face. “Excuse me?”

She steps back and her smile has disappeared. Back in her place is Ursula the Unreachable. Quickly, she leans to the side and blows out the candles. With each one, she names a different event I escorted Liza to, ending with, “And kissing Liza the day my father died? Yes, I’m so convinced you were in love with me.”

She steps forward and presses her lips against mine in a kiss so light that if it weren’t for her scent enveloping me, I’d wonder if a butterfly landed instead of my wife’s mouth.

“That was the day I had promised to start to forgive myself for still loving you because, to my shame, I did. I do. I always will. Even knowing you broke our wedding vows and have been with that woman, I still wish you were by my side every day with all my heart. Especially the day West died. Even if knowing your love for me was a lie. I could have used someone there for me alone.”

Pulling back, she slips from my arms and dashes down the hall as I stand there frozen, unable to move. It isn’t until Sula slips through her doors that I stumble after her. I do just that—fumble my way down to her suite just as the lock snicks.

My hand hits the door with a slam reverberating throughout the open space. She doesn’t return.

I’m not surprised.

She still loves me.

I love you too, Sula. I always will.

I slide to the floor and press the heels of my hands to my eyes. “Christ, what a mess.”

I should have chased her. “If I had, maybe we wouldn’t be in this mess.”