Not The One He Loved

Synopsis

When Virginia Kelley placed the last dish on the table, the sound of the front door lock clicked open. There were three dishes and a soup—everything Camdyn Deleon liked—honey-glazed pork ribs, sautéed seasonal greens, garlic butter shrimp, and a light vegetable consommé. She always cooked according to his tastes: low salt, low oil, ribs braised until they fell off the bone, shrimp carefully deveined and peeled. Camdyn came in, changed his shoes, and didn't look at her. Virginia wiped her hands and stood by the dining table, waiting for him to come over. That was the unspoken rule between them. When he didn't speak first, she waited in silence. He was wearing a dark gray shirt today, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. The Patek Philippe on his wrist caught the light from the chandelier above the dining room. She noticed a faint crease at his collar, as if someone had grabbed him there. "Dinner's ready," she said. Camdyn stood by the entrance, unmoving. Virginia lifted her head to look at him. Three seconds later, she saw the person standing behind him—a woman in a white dress, long hair falling softly over her shoulders, her features gentle and composed. She stood half a step behind Camdyn, delicate and still. Virginia recognized that face. Or rather, she had been staring at it for three years: on his phone wallpaper and in the framed photo on his bedside table. It was Tatum Beasley, the name he called out when he was drunk.