"I had to," I said, my voice low, almost pleading. "Especially with him watching, with everyone watching. If I broke the illusion—if I pushed her away or caused a scene—he would've known. He would've smelled the doubt on me and pulled tighter. We needed him comfortable. We needed him distracted."
Her eyes narrowed, a storm building behind them. "Oh," she said, voice rising, brittle with fury. "So humiliating me was the price of the illusion?"
"October—"
"No, seriously, explain it to me. What part of the master plan required you to hold her? What strategic value was there in letting her touch your face like that, laugh like she knew your secrets, and dance with you like you belonged to her?"
My mouth opened. Nothing came out. Because I didn't have a good answer. I couldn't tell her how I felt her eyes on me the whole time, how the guilt gnawed at me with every step I took with Laura, how my skin felt wrong in her hands. I couldn't tell her how I wanted to throw up halfway through that stupid song.
Because none of that changed the fact that I still did it.
"It wasn't like that," I said finally, my voice hoarse. "I was pretending."
October's jaw clenched. Her arms were still crossed, like she needed to physically hold herself together.
"Well, congratulations," she said coldly. "You're a better actor than I thought."
My hands were shaking now. I didn't even realize they were fists.
"I didn't know what else to do," I said. "I was in the middle of something I didn't even fully understand yet, and the lawyer—he said we had to play along, to gather more evidence, to make it believable. I thought—"
"You thought I'd understand?" she interrupted, her voice raw now. "You thought if you told me after the fact, I'd pat your back and say 'good strategy, honey'?"
I looked at her, helpless. She shook her head.
The silence between us felt like something broken beyond repair.
 "And Portugal?" she asked, her voice low but razor-sharp. Her arms crossed tighter against her chest like she was holding herself together by force. "Are you going, Thomas?"
My breath caught. Not now. Please not that question. Everything already felt like it was teetering on a blade's edge, and with one wrong move, I knew it would all come crashing down.
"I—I don't know," I said finally, swallowing hard. "I have to check with the lawyer. There are... things. We need to make sure the timing lines up with—"
"No." Her voice was steel now. Not loud, but harder than shouting. "You don't need to check with the lawyer. You need to check with me. I'm your wife, Thomas," she said, voice sharp with disbelief. "But of course, I'm just an afterthought. A name you say out of habit. A shadow that fits neatly into the background of your perfect narrative."
"I didn't mean—"
"No. Stop." She stepped forward, her voice cracking now, not from weakness but from the effort of keeping herself from screaming. "You're off in some war zone with your ego and your legacy, while I'm here bleeding out in the silence you left behind."
I opened my mouth to say something—anything—but what was there to say? That I was trying to save us? That this was all part of some grand plan?
My throat burned. "I'm doing this for us," I said, more desperate than defiant now.
She shook her head slowly. "No, Thomas. You're doing this for you. You're trying to win a war your father started years ago. I was just collateral."