Lena unpacked her sundresses in the suite next door by lunch.
Richard nodded at me once across the lobby, his eyes catching mine longer than they ever had before. Then he disappeared behind a newspaper.
At breakfast on day two, Lena reached over my plate to fix Ethan’s collar.
“Marriage takes practice, sweetheart,” she said, smiling at me. “My son has always needed a certain kind of woman.”
I gripped my fork.
“Ethan doesn’t like your pale skin, you know. He told me when you started dating.”
“Mom means well,” Ethan whispered.
“Does she?”
“Avery, please. Be patient.”
By the pool that afternoon, Lena adjusted her sun hat and looked me up and down.
“Ethan doesn’t like your pale skin, you know. He told me when you started dating.”
I felt my face burn. Across the deck, Richard slowly walked over and set a glass of cold water on the small table beside my lounger. He never said a word. He just left it there, condensation already running down the side.
“Don’t mind me. I’ll just stay until my son falls asleep.”
Day three, Lena reorganized the toiletries in our bathroom while we were at lunch.
“I just thought you’d want them by height, dear.”
On the fourth night, just after Ethan and I had crawled back under the covers, a soft knock came at the door. I opened it in my robe, and Lena breezed past me straight to the armchair beside our bed.
“Don’t mind me. I’ll just stay until my son falls asleep.”
