Chapter 14: The Wife of Record

"Of record," I said.

"Of record," the woman said pleasantly.

She didn't lower her hand.

I didn't take it.

The ballroom had gone quiet around us in widening rings, the way a pond does.

A string quartet kept playing to nobody.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't catch your name."

"Does it matter? It's on the certificate."

She opened a small beaded clutch.

She drew out a folded paper, yellowed at the creases, and held it up between two fingers.

A county seal.

Two signatures.

One of them was Damien's.

"Eleven years ago," she said. "A courthouse in Reno. We were very young."

"We weren't," Damien said.

His voice was level.

I felt his arm go hard under my hand.

"Eleven years," Celia said gently, to the people nearest. "And never dissolved, as far as the record shows. How awkward for everyone."

Somebody's glass clinked against somebody's teeth.

A woman in green whispered behind her fan.

A man near the staircase lifted his phone and began to film.

Across the room, a waiter stopped with a tray of champagne and simply stood there.

The quartet reached the end of a phrase and let it hang.

I looked at the certificate.

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