Chapter 1

I turned off my phone, refraining from sending her the dozens of anxious iMessages I usually would have.

I slept with an unfamiliar peace.

It wasn't until nearly noon the next day that Elena returned, carrying a bag of bagels and coffee. Last night's smokey eye was smudged at the corners, giving her a somewhat disheveled air.

She looked at me, seated there with my newspaper, and her tone carried a hint of guilty ingratiation:

"Honey, I'm so sorry. Julian just wrapped up his exhibition and everyone was just so excited. It got too late, and I didn't want to wake you, so we got a suite at the Hotel Chelsea and everyone just crashed there for the night. But don't worry, you know me—I absolutely did not sleep in the same bed as any man."

She made a specific point of emphasizing "did not sleep in the same bed."

The last time she stayed out all night, we had an explosive argument.

I was furious that she, as a married woman, seemed to possess zero understanding of the social etiquette required of married people.

Every few days, she was mixing it up at some art salon or late-night party.

Elena, in tears, accused me of being controlling, of not understanding the "free soul" of an artist.

She swore solemnly that the people in that circle were her classmates from RISD, that they were her "family."

The mere thought of her so-called "family" made me nauseous.

Julian was the one I minded the most.

He was Elena's college classmate; they fancied themselves each other's muses.

To use modern parlance, Julian was the backup tire parked in the "friend zone," her "gay best friend"—except he wasn't gay.

In my eyes, however, their interactions were rife with boundary-crossing ambiguity.

More than once, at gallery openings, I had seen a tipsy Elena leaning on Julian's shoulder, whispering.

They would even share a single cocktail with one straw, completely unreserved.

At first,

Elena would patiently explain their "Platonic" relationship to me.

She would try to soothe my insecurities.

But over time, her patience ran dry.

She would simply toss a cold remark my way:

"Julian and I are soulmates. If I wanted to be with him, we would have been together ten years ago. There wouldn't be any room for you."

Naturally, her circle of friends always chimed in, trying to "brainwash" me.

"Hey, Liam, don't be such a square. They're artists; their way of expressing affection is just more uninhibited. We're all family here."

"We're just embracing life."

Family?

What kind of siblings sit on each other's laps in a karaoke bar, feeding each other fruit?

It was simply absurd.

I told Elena countless times that it made me uncomfortable.

I also didn't like how she was always at Julian's beck and call.

Eventually, these words reached Julian's ears.

And so, the "melancholy artist" began to direct his cold sarcasm at me.

"Whoa, Elena, slow down on the drinks. Or your conservative husband will think we got you drunk on purpose again."

"Boys, Elena is a married woman now. 'Bad guys' like us shouldn't be driving her home."

They humiliated me with these jokes right to my face.

Gradually, everyone came to view me as a narrow-minded, unromantic, boring man.

And my marriage to Elena teetered on the brink.

My thoughts snapped back to the present.

Elena handed me an Americano and hugged my neck from behind.

"Liam, are you still mad? Please don't be! Julian is going to Europe this week for inspiration; we were just sending him off. You're the one I love most."

I remained silent, continuing to flip through the magazine in my hands.

"Don't be mad, okay? Next week is our anniversary. Let's go skiing in Aspen! Just the two of us, staying in that hilltop log cabin you've always wanted to visit."

I am a skiing enthusiast.

I had invited Elena many times before, but she always refused.

Her friends had even mocked me for it.

"Skiing? That's a sport for savages. It's cold and exhausting."

"Our Elena's hands are for painting; how could she subject them to that kind of frost?"

Slowly, I had gotten used to going alone.

But now, she was actively proposing it.

A faint spark of expectation ignited in my heart; perhaps she really did want to salvage this.

Seeing my expression soften, Elena immediately beamed.

She promised right then and there that she would arrange the entire itinerary, and that no one would disturb us.