Broken Strings

ii.

I walk out to the living room and Nathan's already at the dining table, eating the food May prepared. I sit down across from him.

"It's the Everett wedding later this week. I hope you've prepared a fitting gift." He remarks.

"Of course," I reply. "I picked out a set of Meissen teacups; I've heard Annabelle enjoys fine china."

The rest of dinner goes by in silence. Most nights, I eat alone at home. Nathan rarely comes home early, I often feel him crawl into bed beside me in the depths of the night. On weekends, we occasionally eat together, but conversation has always been rare. For a couple with little in common, it makes sense, I suppose.

On the day of the Everett wedding, Nathan and I get ready together at the penthouse. For events like these, a styling team always comes over to help me prepare. A team of three people including a stylist, a makeup artist, and hairdresser flits around me incessantly. By the time they're done, I'm dressed flawlessly in a mauve gown with my hair curled into long waves. My makeup is lightly done, only enough to accentuate my natural features. Nathan doesn't like it when I overdo it, in fact, on most days, he prefers to look at me without makeup.

I step out to the living room to see him already suited up, sitting on the couch looking intently at his phone. He's dressed in a fitted black suit with the tie echoing the exact color of my dress. It's hard for men to pull off warm tones, much less Nathan with his cold, hard, scowl. Somehow, he manages to do it anyway. The pink doesn't make him look any less masculine, but instead juxtaposes his brisk persona to the perfect degree.

Side by side, we look like the perfect elegant couple he wants us to seem like.

We arrive at the wedding right on time. The Field Museum is transformed into a beautiful hall decorated with golden tones. Apparently, the couple has already had a wedding in Paris with their close family. This second wedding is merely an excuse to plan a social event convening the upper class nobility.

To be honest, Nathan isn't particularly close with either Annabelle nor Michael Everett. The only reason we're invited is because he's a Walker, or, more accurately, half a Walker. In Chicago, the Walker name alone holds enough meaning for him to show up at all the important social gatherings.

"Nathaniel!" A voice calls out as the man walks towards us and gives Nathan a hard pat on the back.

I look up and see that it's Rhys, Nathan's older brother. I smile politely, attempting to hide my surprise. I really shouldn't be shocked to see him, it makes more sense for the Everetts to invite him than us. But everyone knows of Nathan and Rhys' relationship—they almost never attend public functions together in order to avoid gossip.

"Rhys, good to see you here." Nathan's lips press into a thin line. His lips curl, but the smile looks more like a snarl.

"My little baby brother," Rhys squeezes Nathan's shoulder condescendingly. The two of them are equally tall and built, but Rhys always seems more intimidating to me. You'd think it's hard for me to find someone more terrifying than my husband, but his brother is truly a piece of work. Everything Nathan embodies, Rhys is ten times worse. He then turns to me and nods, "Adeline."

"Rhys," I acknowledge back. However, before Rhys can say anything more, a man whispers something into his ear and he walks away.

Next to me, I can feel Nathan tensing up. I put my hand in his and look up at him with a smile gently, "Let's go find our seat."

Times like these, it's only wise of me to alleviate the tension. Or else, if Nathan truly gets riled up, I will be the one suffering from his wrath.