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The thought made my chest tight.
“There she is,” Luca said, waving enthusiastically.
Gianna’s face lit up when she saw us approaching. She hugged Luca first, listening intently as he chattered about his artwork and which projects he wanted to show her. Then she turned to me with that careful smile she’d perfected over the past week, the one that looked genuine but never quite reached her eyes.
“Hey,” she said softly.
“Hey yourself.” I brushed a quick kiss against her cheek, the gesture feeling both natural and foreign. “You look beautiful.”
Pink colored her cheeks. “Thank you.”
“Are we being convincing?” I murmured near her ear, low enough that only she could hear.
“I think so.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Summer asked if we were still in the honeymoon phase.”
Before I could respond, Luca grabbed both our hands and started pulling us toward the school. “Come on! Mrs. Patterson said the art show starts at six, and it’s already five after.”
Student artwork decorated the hallways, and families filled the space, admiring the displays. Luca led us straight to his section, where a watercolor painting of our house hung prominently on the wall. He’d painted it from memory, complete with the big oak tree in the front yard and the flowers in the window boxes that Gianna had insisted I needed long before she moved in.
“It’s us,” he explained proudly, pointing to three stick figures standing in the front yard. “That’s Dad, that’s me, and that’s Mom. We’re a family.”
My throat tightened. In his six-year-old world, this was simple truth. We lived together, we took care of each other, we were happy. He didn’t understand the complicated web of legal documents and pretense that had brought us to this point.
“It’s perfect, sweetheart,” Gianna said, her voice thick with emotion. “I love how you painted the flowers.”
“Those are the ones you planted. The purple ones that smell good.”
“Lavender,” she confirmed, reaching out to smooth his hair. “You have a wonderful memory.”
We spent the next hour moving through the displays, admiring artwork and chatting with other parents. I kept one arm around Gianna’s waist, partly for show and partly because I couldn’t seem to help myself. She felt right against my side, like she belonged there.
“Colby?”
I turned at the sound of my name and felt every muscle in my body tense. Lyla stood behind us, perfectly polished as always in a designer dress and heels that clicked against the linoleum floor. Her blonde hair fell in a sleek bob, and her blue eyes held the calculating look I remembered from our worst fights.
“Lyla.” I didn’t move my arm from around Gianna’s waist. “I didn’t see you come in.”
“I’ve been here for a while. Admiring Luca’s work.” Her gaze shifted to Gianna, and I felt my wife stiffen slightly. “You must be the new Mrs. Marshall. I’m Lyla, Luca’s mother.”
“Gianna,” my wife replied evenly. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“Likewise. Though I have to say, this all seems rather sudden. Colby never mentioned he was seeing anyone seriously when we spoke last month.”
The barb hit its mark, but Gianna didn’t flinch. “Sometimes the best things happen when you’re not looking for them.”
“How romantic.” Lyla’s smile was sharp enough to cut glass. “And how convenient, timing-wise.”
“Mom!” Luca appeared at Lyla’s side, his face bright with excitement. “Did you see my painting? It’s the one with my house and my family.”
Lyla’s expression softened as she looked down at her son. Whatever her faults as a wife, she did love Luca in her own way. “I did see it, baby. It’s very good.”
“That’s Dad and Mom and me,” he continued, pointing toward his artwork displayed on the wall. “We’re all happy together.”
“I can see that.” Lyla’s voice was carefully neutral, but I caught the flash of something in her eyes. Pain? Jealousy? It was gone too quickly to identify. “Tell me about school. Are you being good for your father?”
While Luca chattered to his mother about his classes and friends, I felt Gianna relax slightly against my side. But the tension in the air was thick enough to cut, and I knew this was just the beginning. Lyla was studying us, looking for cracks in our facade.
“Well,” Lyla said after a few minutes, “I should probably get going. I have an early meeting tomorrow.” She knelt down to hug Luca. “Be good, okay? I’ll see you soon.”