Chapter 6

The corridor was empty by the time Vivian stepped out of Manager Ortiz's office.

She stood in the dim, carpeted hallway, listening to the faint sounds of the cooling ballroom — chairs scraping, staff clearing tables, the low hum of the ventilation system. The door at the end was propped open, spilling light onto the corridor floor.

Neil was there.

He stood at the far end of the corridor, near the ballroom doors, his back to her, his shoulders still hunched. He had removed his bow tie and was holding it in one hand, the fabric limp and dark against his fingers.

Vivian walked up to him, stopping a few feet away.

He did not turn.

"I did not come back to watch him walk out," she said quietly. "I did not plan any of this, Neil. I want you to know that."

He turned then. In the dim light, his face looked older, lined by something deeper than the wedding night fatigue. Miriam's face had been pale, too, she realized, but she hadn't looked at his eyes in a long time. They were red-rimmed, and not from the champagne.

"I knew," he said.

Vivian went still.

"Knew what?"

"About her." He laughed, a short, hollow sound. "Knew she had a temper. Knew she- she could be cruel. I knew it was a risk, bringing her into our family, into what we built." He shook his head. "But I didn't think it would be directed at you."

Vivian stood very still. "You knew she would hurt you, but not me."

He hung his head. "She had never hit me. She just said things. Made me feel small, made me feel-" He stopped, swallowed, looked down at the bow tie in his hands as if it held the answer. "I told myself it was nothing. That she only did it because she was anxious about the wedding, that once we were married she'd stop."

Vivian was quiet for a long moment.

"And what do you tell yourself now?" she asked.

Neil looked at her, and his face was full of shame.