Скачать или смотреть At Our Friends’ Party, My Wife Told Everyone, “I’m Single, And My Husband Is Just My Cover.” She…

At Our Friends’ Party, My Wife Told Everyone, “I’m Single, And My Husband Is Just My Cover.” She…
My wife takes off her wedding ring as often as I take off my shoes. The difference is, she does it at other people’s houses.

I’m David Grant, forty-four years old, married to Marta for eighteen years. She’s a PR executive with the kind of smile that could sell ice to an Eskimo and nails so perfect they could double as jewelry. Me? I run logistics at a mid-sized shipping company. I keep things moving, organized, and functional—but in Marta’s world, that doesn’t exactly make me interesting.

Tonight, I was trapped at one of Marta’s networking parties. Sophisticated wine, conversations about “brand synergy” and “market disruption,” and the constant hum of people showing off while pretending to be humble. I nursed a beer in the corner of her best friend Sophie Martinez’s downtown loft, watching Marta glide from guest to guest like a master conductor orchestrating her own symphony.

Sophie tried to break the ice. “Dave! You look lonely over here.”
“Just observing,” I said. “It’s fascinating watching everyone pretend they like each other.”

Sophie laughed, but the undertone was unmistakable. In Marta’s circle, I was the boring, stable husband—the one who paid the bills while she dazzled the world.

My eyes drifted back to Marta. She was laughing, leaning close to Aaron Sloane, a “creative director” with expensive jeans and a classic Mustang. His hand lingered on her lower back as they talked, just long enough to make the back of my neck itch. “They work together a lot,” Sophie said. “Sure they do,” I muttered, though my gut told me there was more to the story than mere collaboration.

The party moved around me like a current I couldn’t swim against. Nina Walsh, Marta’s self-proclaimed “work wife,” appeared beside Aaron. Jake Morrison, Aaron’s roommate, was entertaining anyone who would listen about their weekend adventures. Everyone seemed in on something I wasn’t.

Finally, I stepped out onto the balcony for air. The city lights blurred behind me, and through the sliding door, I caught Marta’s voice—louder now, buoyed by wine, warm laughter, and a tone that didn’t belong to the woman who kissed me goodbye this morning.