He shot up from his chair, the shift so sudden it rattled her heart. The candlelight, once soft and romantic, now carved harsh shadows across his jaw. On the windowsill, his silver aviator sunglasses lay in silence. He wore them year-round, not just as an accessory, but as a kind of armor. When he’d first courted her, he’d slip them onto her face on windy afternoons, laughing as he said, “Careful, don’t let the sand sting your eyes. These will protect you.”
Now, the same lenses caught the glow of the flickering flame, reflecting it back like a quiet witness to the tension building between them.
Her pulse thudded against her ribs. She twisted the hem of her skirt with restless fingers. God, why did I say it? Why tonight of all nights? She told herself not to panic, to let her expression remain still, because panicking would only make him explode. Lowering her lashes, she forced confusion into her gaze, as though she had no idea why his fists were clenched so tight. But her eyes couldn’t resist drifting back to those sunglasses. Mirrored, guarded, impossible to read, just like her words now, half-truths cloaked as honesty.
Of course, she knew he was furious. His veins were raised, his ears flushed scarlet. Anger trembled in his throat, refusing to shape itself into words. Like an animal backed into a corner, ready to strike but tethered by restraint, he turned away from her, striding to the windowsill. His hand shook as it closed around the sunglasses, the cold frame biting into his palm. Still, he clung to them, maybe to hold on to the ghost of an old jealousy.
She should have seen this coming. Three years together, and countless times she’d bitten her tongue, telling herself she’d confess when the moment was “right.” But honesty has teeth, and when it finally broke loose tonight, on their third anniversary. It cut deeper than she’d ever feared.
And the day had been perfect, almost painfully so.
The heat outside was relentless, but inside their apartment the air hummed with cool relief. He’d insisted the day belonged only to them, no work, no friends, no interruptions. They’d spent the morning tangled in sheets, the afternoon soaking in each other’s laughter. Even the sunlight had felt sweeter, as if it, too, celebrated them.
By sunset, they were side by side on the balcony. He had just come in from the street, leaving his aviators on the sill. The dying light hit the lenses, splashing warm shimmer across her hand. They’d shared a smile then—soft, unspoken, the kind of smile that made her believe marriage had only deepened their love.
Later, they cooked together. She wrapped herself around his waist, kissed the sheen of sweat along his shoulders, made the scent of sizzling oil something tender. Over dinner, red wine loosened their laughter, turned each kiss sweeter, each touch slower.
And then the night deepened. On the balcony again, he lit a slender cigar. Smoke curled into the breeze, mixing with the heady traces of wine, and something inside her broke loose. Three years of silence unraveled on her tongue. The alcohol nudged her guilt to the surface, whispering that honesty was owed.
She leaned against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat, drinking in his warmth. He kissed her between sips of wine, until her lips trembled with confession.
“Do you remember Mike?” she asked softly. “Back then, you two chased me together.”
He laughed, threading his fingers through her hair. “Of course. He was my rival in everything—career, family, charm. I nearly lost you to him.”
She teased him with a playful pinch. “Listen to yourself—talking like I was a prize.”
He only smiled, kissed her harder. But when she whispered, “What if I had married him instead?”—his laughter slowed, though he still puffed out his chest and declared dramatically, “Then I’d have died trying to win you back. Over and over, until I had no breath left.”
She kissed him again, her voice a sigh against his neck. “That night you got me drunk, I gave myself to you...”
“I didn’t get you drunk,” he protested, breath uneven. “You wanted it. You said it yourself—you wanted the courage.”
Her cheeks flushed. “I was still a virgin. But you... you were so rough.”
His chuckle was low, almost tender. “I couldn’t control myself. Not with you.”
The night seemed to cradle them in warmth—until her next words slipped like a knife.
“A month after Mike tried to kill himself... a week before our wedding... he came to me. He begged me to see him again.”
His arms froze around her. The laughter died on his lips.
Her sigh was faint. “I thought he might try again if I refused. So I went.”
His breath caught, ragged. “That place?” His voice cracked like dry wood.
His voice tore from him like thunder. “You let him?”
She stayed still, calm now, too calm. She raised her glass, took a sip, and said evenly, “Of course not. I left right away. I already knew I was yours.”
The rage drained from him slowly, leaving only a heavy exhale. He set the sunglasses gently back on the sill, the soft clink of metal against glass cutting through the silence. “Don’t bring this up again,” he murmured, his voice rough but steady.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her cheek to the cool line of his collarbone. “I just didn’t want to keep secrets from you,” she whispered.
His hold tightened, steady, as though he needed to anchor them both. The sunglasses on the sill caught the flicker of candlelight, no longer harsh, but softened—like a quiet promise that the past would stay where it belonged.
The breeze from the balcony drifted in again, the candlelight still flickering. The tension from earlier seemed to dissolve in their embrace. Only she knew, deep down, that she was breathing a quiet sigh of relief. The night air brushed the windowsill, where the silver lenses caught and reflected the distant city lights, glimmering now and then—like the secret she hadn’t spoken, hidden within that fragile shimmer, unknown to anyone.
If she had been completely honest, if she had confessed everything that happened in that villa, if she hadn’t been able to push Mike away, if that night had become an irrevocable part of their past, what would he be like now?
