I stared at him.
“What I’ve done?”
“You publicly accepted an award connected to Sentinel while married to a Meridian executive consultant.”
“You’re not an executive.”
“That’s not the point.”
“No, Richard. It actually is part of the point.”
He lowered his voice.
“People are going to connect me to this.”
“They already know we’re married.”
“My clients didn’t.”
That caught me off guard.
“What?”
He looked away.
“My professional biography doesn’t mention you.”
I almost laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because twelve years of marriage suddenly became perfectly clear.
Richard wanted a wife who improved his image socially while remaining professionally invisible.
At galas, I was useful.
At dinners, pleasant.
At political fundraisers, I smiled beside him.
But when my accomplishments became inconvenient, apparently I disappeared entirely.
“So what are you asking me to do?” I said.
“I’m asking why you didn’t warn me.”
“I received final notification about the award five weeks ago.”
His eyes widened.
“Five weeks?”
“Yes.”
“And you said nothing?”
“I wanted to.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
I studied his face.
“Do you remember dinner at Marcel’s six weeks ago?”
Something shifted in his expression.
Barely.
But enough.
He remembered.
We had been dining with two of Richard’s clients and their wives.
One of the men asked about my work.
Before I could respond, Richard laughed.
“Claire lives in a world of laboratory reports. Trust me, nobody wants the details.”
Everyone laughed politely.
Then Richard spent twenty minutes describing one of his own consulting victories.
Later, in the taxi, I told him I disliked the way he had spoken about me.
His response had been immediate.
“Don’t be so sensitive.”
I repeated the words now.
Richard rubbed his jaw.
“Jesus, Claire. You withheld something this significant because of a dinner joke?”
“No. I stopped trying to explain myself because I finally understood you didn’t care.”
“That’s melodramatic.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
“Name the subject of my doctoral dissertation.”
He stared at me.
“That’s absurd.”
