Chapter 2

Diane pulled her hand back and studied me.

"What's gotten into you?"

I replied, "I'm giving you a present."

"You were practically crying over it a minute ago."

Marcus shifted toward us. "Evelyn, you said you loved it."

"I do. But your mother should have something special for the new year," I said.

'He reached for my hand.

"It's custom-made," he said. "I ordered it for you. And it fits you. Don't be ridiculous. If you want her to have one so badly, buy another."

"But there isn't another," I said. "Is there, Marcus?"

He stopped reaching.

I continued, "You told me it was the only one. If another woman had the exact same ring, that would rather spoil the gift."

His eyes moved from my face to the diamond. For a second, he looked almost angry.

"Of course there isn't another. Why would you even say that?" he said.

"Because your mother just suggested it."

Diane was too busy admiring her hand to notice the pause.

"Don't start a fight after offering," she told me. "It's tacky."

"I wasn't starting anything." I smiled at Marcus. "I'm glad you had something unique made. She deserves it."

Marcus got up, saying he needed to take care of some work.

Diane held her hand in the morning light. She twisted her wrist, finding the angle that made the stone look largest.

"I suppose you can be thoughtful when you try."

I waited.

She continued, "But don't think this gets you out of cooking. There's nothing ready for dinner."

There it was. She had accepted a ring worth more than most people's homes and was already worried I might expect an evening off.

"Of course. Would you like a picture first?" Iasked.

She looked at me.

"For your friends," I said. "It would be a shame if nobody saw it."

Then she handed me her phone.

Since Marcus had become rich, Diane had spent years having other people do everything for her. She didn't lift grocery bags or carry her own coat if someone could carry it for her. Between the clothes, the treatments, and a flattering angle, she could pass for much younger than she was.

I put her beside the window and asked her to raise her hand near her cheek.

"The ring needs to show," she said.

I said, "It does. Look."

Her face and the diamond were both clear. There was no family portrait behind her, no son beside her, nothing in the frame to say who she was to Marcus.

She took several minutes choosing a caption.

"My baby gave me five whole carats. Isn't it gorgeous?"

"Should I say how much it cost?" she asked.

"People who know jewelry will know."

That words pleased her more than a price tag. She posted the photograph and settled down to wait for compliments.

Upstairs, I opened my laptop and searched for the post.

Serena's travel account was public, and the latest post included a close-up of the diamond against a champagne glass. Her caption said her husband had designed it for her.

I clicked through to her profile. Beach hotels, shopping bags, dinners on balconies.

There were glimpses of Marcus everywhere once I knew to look: his watch beside a dinner plate, his reflection in a window, his hand resting on her knee. He'd kept his face out of most of her videos. But he hadn't kept his life out of them.

I opened the calendar we used for business travel.

Hawaii in July. France in August. Italy in November.

Same dates. Every time.

In July, he'd called from what he said was a hotel conference room and complained that I sounded distracted. I'd been at my desk, fixing a delivery problem that would have cost us our biggest client. Serena's video from that afternoon showed him carrying drinks toward a cabana.

In November, I'd spent a night in the hospital after months of stomach trouble and too many client dinners where I'd drunk more than I should. He'd said he couldn't get a flight home yet.

Serena had posted a dinner cruise that night.

I remembered lying under a thin hospital blanket, apologizing to Marcus for calling so late.

We'd married before we could afford a wedding. After the company took off, I kept thinking we'd finally have the party we'd missed. But Marcus always found a reason to postpone it.

He also refused to announce our marriage publicly. Most of the company knew, but interviews and business profiles described us only as cofounders.

"People need to see us as professionals," he'd told me. "Not some husband-and-wife operation."

Apparently, being called someone's husband was fine as long as that someone wasn't me.

I closed the calendar.

Using an account with no connection to my name, I sent Serena the photograph Diane had just posted.

I added one line.

[Thought you'd want to see this.]

Later that morning, Marcus came back into the living room. I was beside Diane, listening to her read out compliments on the ring.

"Oh," I said, as if something had just occurred to me. "I think I saw one like yours online."

Diane lowered her phone. Marcus stopped by the couch.

"Where?" he asked.

"In a video. A woman was holding a glass."

"Which video?"

"I don't know. I scrolled past it."

"Was it this setting? Did you see the band?"

He was asking too fast. Diane glanced up at him.

"It was probably a cheap copy," she said.

"Probably," he agreed. "Evelyn doesn't know much about jewelry."

I knew enough to see him checking his phone while Marcus said it.

He walked onto the balcony and shut the door behind him. His back was turned to us, his head bent toward the screen.

In my first life, I'd mistaken that posture for a man carrying the weight of our company.