Chapter 3

Three days later came the third anniversary of the day we'd gotten together.

Maybe what had happened at the hospital left him feeling guilty, because Ezra, wanting to "make it up to me," went out of his way to be attentive.

He booked out the French restaurant where we'd had our first date, the entire rooftop terrace, and said tonight belonged to just the two of us.

That afternoon a courier delivered a box. Inside was a new white gown from my favorite designer label.

Then a message came through: "Take a hot bath, do your makeup, make yourself gorgeous. Tonight, my queen."

I looked at myself in the mirror, my makeup done just so, at that pure white gown, and the last bit of resentment and leftover love in me was still putting up its dying struggle.

I went to the restaurant.

At the door, the manager greeted me himself and led me up to the terrace.

Soft lighting, the lilt of a violin, the city's night skyline under a sky full of stars.

Ezra stood there in a crisp suit, already waiting.

When he saw me, his eyes brightened and he rose to greet me.

Then I saw the person sitting beside him.

A girl in the same white gown.

It was Pearl.

She saw me too, and her face took on a startled, flustered look as she quickly stood.

"Greta..."

Ezra came over fast, took my hand, an apologetic smile on his face.

"Baby, let me explain. Pearl pulled an all-nighter for a project and just finished. She had nowhere to eat. I figured we're all like family, so I brought her along. You don't mind, right?"

His words shut down every reaction I might have had.

Pearl came over timidly too and tugged at the hem of Ezra's jacket.

"Ezra, I'm sorry, I didn't know it was your anniversary today... Maybe I should just go, I can grab something quick on my own."

As she spoke, her eyes went red.

Ezra caught her arm at once.

"Go where? Sit down. I said you're like family. Greta's the most generous person there is, aren't you, baby?"

He turned to look at me, and in his eyes was a pressure that left no room for refusal.

He pressed down on my shoulders and sat me in the head seat.

He slid the menu in front of me. "See what you feel like eating."

I opened it, and before I could even look, I saw the dishes had already been marked off in pencil.

Australian lobster, French baked escargot, pan-seared foie gras...

All seafood and organ meats, every one of them something I was allergic to and couldn't so much as touch.

And every one of them was food Pearl had posted about, the things she'd called "the loves of my life."

Under the table, my hand slowly tightened.

The dishes came out one by one.

Ezra and Pearl chatted about funny things at the company, laughing now and then.

Every so often he'd remember and put a bite of greens into my bowl.

"Eat more vegetables. You've gotten thin lately."

I felt like an extra, an intruder who'd wandered into someone else's private world for two.

At last a waiter wheeled over an elegant anniversary cake.

Across the top, written in chocolate: Happy Anniversary, S&X.

Ezra lit the candles, then smiled and said to Pearl,

"Come on, our little hero, you did the most work today, so you make this wish for us."

He pushed the cake in front of her.

Pearl glanced at Ezra, overwhelmed by the honor, then stole a careful look at me.

Then she closed her eyes, pressed her palms together, and made a wish.

When she opened them, she smiled with all that innocence and said,

"My wish is to get to spend the anniversary with you, Ezra, and with Greta, every single year."

I looked at the absurd scene in front of me and laughed.

I picked up the very expensive bottle of Romanée-Conti on the table.

Over that elegant cake with our initials on it, I poured the red wine down, slow.

The wine soaked through the cream and ruined the words "Happy Anniversary."

The smiles froze on Ezra's and Pearl's faces.

The whole terrace went dead silent.

I set the bottle down, stood, and looked at Ezra.