When the couple arrived, they were warm and friendly. The man introduced himself as Richard, a cheerful, well-dressed gentleman with a booming laugh. His wife, Margaret, was petite with auburn hair and a kind smile that immediately set Della on edge.
"It's wonderful to see you again," Margaret said, taking Della's hand in both of hers. "I don't know if you remember, but we met in the city a few months ago."
Della's throat tightened. "Of course," she lied, her voice steady despite her rising anxiety.
"You were such a lifesaver," Margaret continued, her smile brightening. "I had forgotten my credit card while shopping, and the cashier was ready to throw me out when you stepped in and paid for everything. You wouldn't take no for an answer!"
Della laughed softly, hoping it sounded natural. "Oh, it was nothing. Anyone would have done the same."
Margaret beamed. "You're too modest. I've never forgotten that kindness. Richard and I were just saying how lucky we were to have run into you that day."
Hunter, standing nearby, watched the exchange. Della could feel his eyes on her, sharp and assessing, and it made her palms sweat.
The ocean waves lapped gently against the shore as the four of them dined on grilled shrimp, roasted vegetables, and a decadent chocolate dessert.
Richard was lively, regaling them with stories of their travels, while Margaret chimed in with details about their honeymoon plans. Della listened intently, grateful for the distraction from her own nervousness.
"You've always been so gracious, Emily," Margaret said at one point, turning to her. "Richard and I were just saying that we could see it even back in the city. The way you carry yourself—it's so effortless."
Della's smile faltered for a fraction of a second, but she quickly recovered. "That's kind of you to say."
Hunter leaned back in his chair, swirling his wine. His gaze flicked between Della and Margaret. "Emily has always been good at making an impression," he said smoothly, his tone carrying an edge that only Della seemed to notice.
Margaret leaned in conspiratorially toward Della. "You know, I almost didn't recognise you when we arrived," she said softly.
Della's heart skipped a beat. "Oh?"
Margaret nodded. "There's something… different about you tonight. But it's lovely, of course. You seem… lighter, in a way."
Della's hands tightened in her lap, her smile feeling brittle. "Perhaps it's the ocean air."
"Perhaps," Margaret said.
____
Della stood by Hunter's side, her hands clasped tightly in front of her as she watched the guests exchange goodbyes.
"Thank you again for such a delightful evening," Mrs. Margaret said, her hand lightly brushing Hunter's arm. Her husband, offered a kind smile to Della. "It was lovely meeting you, Emily. You've always been so generous."
She forced a smile, hoping it didn't appear as strained as it felt. "It was our pleasure," she replied softly.
"Goodnight." Mr. Richard said, clapping Hunter on the back. His wife, turned to Della with an appraising look.
"Emily," she said. Marriage suits you."
Della could feel Hunter's eyes on her, but she didn't dare meet his gaze. She smiled faintly, murmuring a polite thank you, and watched as they disappeared down the path.
After the guests had left and the house fell quiet, Della retreated to the master bedroom, exhausted and tense. She had just begun removing her jewellery when the door opened behind her.
Hunter stepped inside, his presence filling the room. He didn't say anything at first, merely watching her as she removed her earrings and set them on the vanity.
"You handled tonight well," he said finally.
"Thank you," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
He stepped closer. "Margaret seemed to remember you vividly."
Della froze, her fingers stilling over the clasp of her necklace. "She was very kind."
"She said you paid for her shopping," he continued, his voice soft. "That was generous of you."
Her chest tightened. "It was nothing, really."
Hunter's lips curved into a faint smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You have such a good memory for these things."
The tension in the room was suffocating. Della turned to face him fully, her heart pounding. Before she could ask what he meant, he extended a hand toward her.
"Dance with me."
Della blinked, caught off guard. "But, there's no music."
"We don't need any." His voice was low, almost a whisper. "The ocean will do."
She hesitated for a moment, but then she placed her hand in his, allowing him to guide her out onto the balcony.
She let him pull her close, his arm slipping around her waist while his other hand held hers.
"I don't think I've ever seen you this quiet," he teased gently, his voice breaking the stillness.
Della managed a faint smile. "I'm just... trying to take it all in."
"Take what in?"
She looked up at him, her heart aching. *You. This moment. The way I'll never have this again when the truth comes out.*
"Everything," she said instead, her voice trembling.
Hunter's gaze softened, his fingers tightening slightly on her waist. "You know," he murmured, "for someone who's been a part of my life for so long, you still manage to surprise me."
Della's breath hitched. "Surprise you how?"
He tilted his head, studying her. "The way you smile. The way you look at me sometimes, like you're seeing me for the first time. Even the way you move—it's different. Softer, somehow."
Her stomach twisted, guilt clawing at her insides. She dropped her gaze, unable to meet his eyes.
"I don't know what you mean," she whispered.
Hunter leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a murmur. "Don't you?"
Della froze, her heart pounding as his fingers traced a light pattern along the small of her back. The intimacy of the gesture, with his piercing gaze, was almost too much to bear.
"You're trembling," he said softly.
She forced a smile, though it felt brittle. "It's just the breeze."
Hunter didn't respond, his gaze never leaving hers. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he leaned in, his forehead resting against hers.
"I don't know what's happening to me," he said, his voice raw. "But when I look at you, I feel... different. Like I'm seeing you for the first time. And it scares me."
Della closed her eyes, tears threatening to spill. "Hunter..."
"I should know better," he continued, his tone tinged with self-reproach. "You're my wife. I should know every part of you. But lately, it's like you've become a mystery I can't solve. And God help me, I don't want to stop trying."
Her tears spilled over, and she quickly turned her head away. "I can't do this," she whispered.
Hunter's hand fell to his side, and for a moment.
"Then tell me," he said quietly. "What is it you're afraid of?"
She couldn't answer. Not truthfully. Not without shattering the fragile connection they'd built.
"I should go inside," she said finally, her voice trembling.
Hunter stepped back, his expression unreadable. "Of course. If that's what you want."
She nodded, though every step away from him felt like a betrayal of her own heart.