Page 32 of Holidate Scramble
I lingered, watching her disappear into the building, again struck by how much she’d turned my world upside-down and how grateful I was for it.
The drive back to the house was quick, my mind already shifting to preparations for the evening ahead. I needed to shower, press my tuxedo, then drive back to pick up Piper so that we’d arrive during the pre-dinner cocktail hour.
So absorbed in my mental checklist, I almost didn't notice the silver Audi parked near my driveway until I was pulling in. A figure emerged from the driver's side as I stepped out of my car—her willowy figure was unmistakable.
Adrienne.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, not bothering with pleasantries.
"Is that any way to greet your wife?" She removed oversized sunglasses despite the overcast day, revealing perfectly made-up eyes narrowed in assessment.
"Ex-wife," I corrected. "And you didn't answer my question."
"I was at the cookie competition." She unwound a cashmere scarf from her neck—a designer piece, of course. "You and your little fling looked so cozy."
Cold dread settled in the pit of my stomach. "You were there? I didn't see you."
"That was rather the point." She gestured to her scarf and hat. "I wanted to observe without interference."
"Observe what, exactly?"
"You, Rhett. This... phase... you're going through." Her words were casual but her tone was razor-edged. "Suddenly you’re the life of the party and dating a girl young enough to be our daughter."
"Piper is twenty-nine," I corrected, even as I registered the tactical mistake of engaging. "And my personal life is none of your business."
"Isn't it?" She stepped closer, the scent of her cloying perfume invading my space. The late December wind whipped around us, carrying the distant sound of harbor bells. "We have history, Rhett. Twenty-seven years. Two children. A life we built together."
"A life that ended when we signed the divorce papers."
Something flickered across her face—a tightening around her eyes, a momentary twitch at the corner of her mouth—revealing genuine emotion.
"About that," she said, her tone softening to something almost vulnerable. "I've been thinking a lot lately. About us. About what went wrong."
Every instinct honed by years of marriage warned me this was dangerous territory. "Adrienne—"
"No, please. Let me finish." She placed a hand on my arm, her red-lacquered nails stark against my coat sleeve. "I was wrong, sweetheart. When you wanted to work on our marriage, when you suggested counseling... I should have listened."
I stared at her, momentarily lost for words. This admission—something I'd once desperately wanted to hear—now felt hollow, a carefully timed move in a game I no longer wanted to play.
"Being divorced is terrible," she continued, her voice catching slightly. "Our family is broken. The children feel it too, even if they don't say it."
"Our children are adults with their own lives," I pointed out, taking a step back. "They've adjusted."
"Have they? Even if they don’t come right out and say it, I know they’re hurting."
"So you've said. Yet when I spoke with Eliza directly, she expressed no such feelings. Neither has Aiden."
Adrienne waved this away, her diamond tennis bracelet catching the weak winter sunlight. "They don’t want to upset you."
I pinched the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache forming. Dark clouds gathered on the horizon, matching my mood as the wind picked up, rustling dead leaves across the driveway. "What do you want? Why are you really here?"
She took a deep breath, as if steeling herself for something difficult. "I want us to try again."
"What?"
"Us. Our marriage." Her words took on an urgency I hadn't heard in years. "People reconcile all the time. We could go away together—the Riviera, perhaps, or the South of France. Reconnect. Remember what we once had."
"Adrienne," I said carefully, "that's not going to happen."
