“I’m sorry, but I need to leave. It’s nothing you’ve done; I respect your hustle. But this talking to a stranger and confessing bad acts, it isn’t me. I need to think good thoughts. I’m calling only positive vibes into my life right now.”

I hop up from the couch and leave Rini with her preparation for my reading untouched. I was not rude like Eden or Margot; I explained myself, at least partially. I don’t need to hear anything she was planning to tell me because I know exactly what to do.

I step out of the study and go upstairs to our suite with a cocktail. I pick out the perfect outfit, shower, and do my hair and makeup, sipping my drink and listening to my favorite love songs. When I’m camera-ready, I head out to the back lawn. I arrange the Adirondack chairs side by side, looking out over the dock in the water. My timing is perfect. It’s magic hour and the Stars Harbor lawn is bathed in glowing light like fields of gold. I return inside for a bottle of wine and two glasses. Now, I find Adam.

I know how to keep this life I love. I’ve been doing it for years; it’s called manifesting. My Instagram will prove it.

ADAM

I sink the eight ball in the left corner pocket. Margot is about to cry about her second loss when I hear Aimee call my name. Margot stands straight, her pool cue erect like a weapon in waiting.

“Settle down, will you?” I say, reading Margot’s nervous energy.

“What does she want?”

“I am still her husband. It’s not a sign of insanity for her to look for me.”

“Do you think she knows?” Margot whispers.

“Seriously, this has to stop. I cannot survive this weekend with you jumping every time Aimee says my name.”

As if on prompt, Aimee calls out again. This time her voice is playful. I can tell she’s been drinking. Margot’s shoulders relax.

“What?” I shout back.

Aimee follows my voice until she appears in the game room doorway. Her hands press on either side of the frame.

“There you are,” she says.

Her sweater rides up to show a sliver of her midsection. Her face is flush, but not blotchy like after a run. The alcohol sends the blood to her cheeks, like makeup. When she drinks, she licks her lips until they’re dark pink. This is my favorite Aimee.

Was my favorite Aimee. Before I recognized her love was all smoke and mirrors.

“Can you come outside?” she asks.

“Me and Margot are in the middle of a game.”

Margot sets her cue against the wall in a reluctant gesture of surrender. She probably wants us to talk. Or at least it’s better than me being around Eden in her mind.

“Can you come outside now?” Aimee asks.

She laces her fingers through mine and leads me down the hallway, but I drop her hand as we walk through the dining room. Aimee glances back at me when I let go. I point to the bar cart but Joe walks in the door, looking for Farah.

“No, no, I’ve got wine outside waiting for us,” Aimee says to me. She doesn’t want Joe to distract me, I’m sure.

Outside I turn back toward the house and spot Eden sitting on Rick’s lap in the sunroom with the screened-in porch. He’s looking at his phone and hands her one of his earbuds. Eden notices me catch her, but she doesn’t move.

Is this what she’s like with Rick when I’m not around? It makes me feel sick seeing her so close and intimate with anyone else, even her husband. I look away quickly and block them out of my mind.

“What are we looking at?” I ask Aimee.

“I need to do a post.”

She waves her hands with a flourish and I notice her romantic setup. Magic hour over the water, the Adirondack chairs, the glasses on the small table between them.

“With us?” I ask, caught off guard.

Aimee’s online persona as a momfluencer typically has nothing to do with me. She does her work with the girls, her ring-light tripod, and a self-timer. It occurs to me she’s never once asked me for help, not even in the beginning.

“Can’t be a mommy without a baby daddy. Or that’s what the advertisers who have turned me down said. They need to see more couple shots,” she says.

Now this makes sense. She doesn’t want me involved, but she knows how to take a note from the guys with the money.

“Sit,” she says.

Aimee takes the seat next to me and props her phone on the table between us. She positions our hands together on my armrest with her engagement ring shining in the setting sun. After a few seconds she leans over and makes a kissy face.

“No,” I object.

“Come on, meet me halfway,” she says.

“This is so contrived.”

“And your novels are real?”

In another time and place I would have volleyed her banter. My novels are fake in a different sense, but an essential element of truth has to shine through or the book will flop. Aimee knows that, and that’s what bothers me. She doesn’t see that there’s nothing real left between us. We’re already dead in the water.

I don’t say any of this. Instead, for some reason I can’t explain, I try. I sit up and lean slightly toward her while keeping my eyes on the view ahead. Aimee leans in and kisses me on the cheek. Behind us her phone silently captures it all. I’m annoyed that she’s dragged me into this, but I can’t argue with Aimee taking her career seriously.

“Okay, one more,” she says.

I look to her for a cue and she grabs my face with her hands. She kisses me full on the lips, slipping her tongue into my mouth. Without even trying, I lose myself in the kiss, so sweet and soft and lovely.

I pull away sharply and glance over my shoulder at Eden. She’s still sitting in Rick’s lap, keeping up her part of the charade.

“Let’s see if I got my shot,” Aimee says, scrolling through her phone. That’s her signal that she’s done with me.

“I’m heading back in,” I say. I stand and take my untouched prop wine, resentful of the surge of power Aimee exerted over me. The power to make me forget the cruel side of her. Power I want to take back.

“Oh no, you have to see this.” She grabs my hand and pulls me back into her orbit. “It’s perfect.”

Aimee holds out her phone, and my eyes are drawn to our picture. She wasn’t exaggerating, using the term perfect. The light is stunning. Our silhouettes are black against the brilliant sun. A single ray shines through the outline of Aimee’s plump lips, subtly sensual but still G-rated. Her hand cupping my face is the jewel in the crown of intimacy.

“Let the love shine through,” she says. “That’s the caption.”

“Yeah, that’s it,” I agree.

My medium is the written word, but Aimee tells visual stories. And this one portrays nothing short of a fairy tale. She looks up at me and the ice between us cracks. I smile with pride.