Barrett knocked at seven with a garment bag over his arm.
Barrett: Board lunch. Noon. Wear this.
Lacey: Good morning to you too.
Barrett: Morning. Noon. Don't be late to your own introduction.
The dress was gray and plain and probably cost more than my oven.
Lacey: You picked this out yourself?
Barrett: A store sent three. The other two looked like a party.
Lacey: And I'm not a party.
Barrett: You're a wife. Today you look like one.
I stood at the mirror and tucked my hair back twice. My hands would not stay still.
It wasn't Gavin I was scared of anymore. It was the room.
Barrett: You're shaking.
Lacey: I'm excited. It looks the same on my face.
He walked me in with his hand flat on my back, warm through the gray cloth.
Barrett: Head up. You don't owe anyone an explanation.
Lacey: What if they ask what I do?
Barrett: Tell them the truth. Loud.
Twenty faces turned at once. Silver hair, dark suits, and a lot of expensive watches.
Then I saw him at the far end of the table.
Gavin. Holding his coffee cup like it was a trophy.
Bianca sat beside him in dark green with one hand on his sleeve, like she was holding a receipt.
Bianca: Lacey. You found a chair.
Lacey: I found a husband. Chairs are easy.
Barrett didn't sit. He stood at the head of the table with one hand on my chair.
Barrett: This is Lacey. My wife.
The room did the thing rooms do. It went very quiet and very loud at the same time.
Nobody clapped. The woman near the window set her fork down like it was a bill.
Gavin: Well. That was fast.
Barrett: Sit down and eat, Gavin.
Gavin: No speeches? Two years with me and she never once sat at a table like this.
Lacey: Two years with you and I never once got a ring. Funny how that works.
Someone at the far end laughed, short and sharp. Gavin's ears went red.
Bianca: We're doing a cake tasting next week. For the engagement party.
Bianca: You should come. You're so good with frosting, apparently.
Lacey: I hope Bianca likes boxed cake mix.
Bianca: Excuse me?
Lacey: It's quick. It's cheap. And honestly, some people can't taste the difference.
The table made a sound. Half a cough, half a laugh.
Barrett's face didn't move. But under the tablecloth his hand found my knee.
His thumb pressed once, slow, and stayed. It wasn't a warning. It was hungrier than that.
Barrett: Careful.
Lacey: You wanted me loud.
Barrett: I said loud. I didn't say cruel.
The lunch rolled on. Numbers, a merger, a name I'd never heard. Then a silver-haired woman across from me asked what I did.
Barrett opened his mouth to answer for me.
Lacey: I make cake in jars. From my grandmother's recipes. And I'm good at it.
The woman blinked. Then she nodded, once, like a door had opened a crack.
Barrett sat back in his chair and looked at me a beat too long.
Barrett: She's better than good.
In the hall he stopped me with a hand on my elbow.
Barrett: You didn't need me in there.
Lacey: I needed the door. I didn't need the speech.
Barrett: Gavin's face when you said boxed cake mix. I'd pay to see that again.
Lacey: I thought I made you look weak.
Barrett: No. You made me look like a man with a wife.
His voice went rough on the word wife, and he let go of my elbow fast.
He put his hand back at my back to walk me out. Light. Careful. Owning.
I couldn't tell if it was armor or a lock. I was too proud to ask.
I had said my own name in that room, and nobody laughed. Whatever his hand was, I wanted more of it.