Vanessa Sterling pushed me into the pool in front of forty people, and everyone laughed before they realized whose wife I was.

It happened at a summer charity party on the rooftop of the Rowan Grand, the kind of place where the glasses never emptied, the music was soft enough to hide cruelty, and everyone dressed like they expected to be photographed. I had not wanted to go. Adrian had insisted because Miles Rowan, the hotel owner, was trying to close a deal with him, and apparently a man’s polished marriage still looked good at the right kind of event. So I wore the navy dress Adrian liked, pinned my hair up, smiled through the introductions, and stood near the pool trying not to feel like a prop in my own life.

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