The Wrong Wife by Maya Alden

Chapter 17

Esme

Mateo came up to the penthouse.

"Would you like a drink?" I asked politely, hoping he would refuse. It was just after ten, so early on a Friday night—but I was exhausted and ready to crash.

"Yes. Some wine, please."

I had bought just one bottle of Chablis, and only a little of that was left. I had checked out Declan's massive wine fridge that housed over a four hundred bottles of delicious wine—how could I not? But it felt wrong to take his wine. The wine I coveted cost at least a few hundred dollars, and I didn't feel comfortable opening it without his permission.

Mateo seemed to sense that and sighed. "Esme, this is your house now. His wine is your wine for however long you're married. Just get a bottle out and open it. Or I can do it if you're too afraid."

That was just the right button to push. I was tired of being afraid…of my father and my husband.

Declan wouldn't even care, would he? He had a lot of money; a few hundred dollars would mean nothing to him. I pulled out my glasses from the little bag matched with the Marchesa dress and went to look for a bottle of wine in Declan's wine fridge.

I expertly used the corkscrew to open the bottle and smelled the cork with delight. When the world was not making sense and everything was complicated, one had to find joy in the small things. This was going to be the perfect bottle of wine. I found two Burgundy wine glasses and poured a taste for each of us.

"Amazing," Mateo said.

I let the wine inundate all my senses. It was a beautiful Pinot Noir from 2018. It still had fresh fruit flavors combined with the minerality Côte de Nuits was known for.

"Lovely," I agreed.

I filled our glasses. Mateo sat on one of the bar stools at the kitchen counter, and I stood on the other side.

"You can sit next to me; I don't bite." Mateo winked.

I felt self-conscious. I came onto the other side, took my shoes off, and sat down in relief. "I'm not used to wearing shoes like this."

"I guess not. In your profession, you probably wear something comfortable.

"I live my life in sneakers," I admitted. "From a business perspective, how did the evening go?"

"I don't know," Mateo confessed. "I was invited to keep you company."

"I thought you were there to engage Mrs. Rivers in conversation."

"I had instructions from both Nina and Dec. Nina wanted me to care for Mrs. Rivers and Dec wanted me next to you."

I frowned. "Why?"

"Declan knew that he'd have to focus on the senator and wanted to ensure you weren't sitting alone getting bored."

I didn't like that one bit. "You were my babysitter?"

"Yes." He didn't deny it. "Does that bother you?"

"Yes. I'm an adult. I don't need a babysitter."

"Your father thinks you do. He wanted me there to ensure you didn't screw up the evening."

I gasped at his directness. I knew what my father thought of me, and I was embarrassed that Mateo, a stranger, now also knew.

"Do you do that a lot? Screw up social situations?" He sipped his wine.

His gaze was intent on me, and I was confident Mateo Silva didn't like me much. He probably also preferred Viv, but unlike the artist earlier in the evening, Mateo knew the truth about my marriage and the reasons, and yet, he was hostile—like I had a choice. I should've said I was tired and called it a night. I shouldn't have been polite. I should've known this man was not going to become a friend.

"Sometimes I'm known to talk too much about things I'm passionate about." I attempted levity and failed. I was fatigued both physically and emotionally. And my reserves were low. It was taking more and more effort to keep my beatific façade.

"And what are you passionate about, Esme?"

He was condescending me. He made me feel small and inadequate as Declan did, as my father did. Mateo was in an impeccable suit—probably bespoke while I was in a dress I didn't feel comfortable in. He wore soft Italian leather shoes, and my feet were bare, and I hadn't had a pedicure in ages. His eyes were full of contempt and disgust, mine were ready to start weeping.

"I'm passionate about my work. I'm passionate about public policy and social welfare. And I love wine. I can talk about wine until the cows come home." I had a lifetime of evading hostility without showing my fears—by staying on topic and keeping it light.

"Wine? How come?"

"I was raised in a vineyard. My grandmother grew Pinot Noir in the Santa Rita Hills. She sold the grapes, and I grew up playing in the vines." My mood softened as I thought about my abuela. "My grandfather was Irish, and my grandmother was from Mexico. He came to California and learned to grow and make wine. After he passed, abuela stopped making wine and sold that part of the business to a neighbor. In all honesty, Grandpa was never a great winemaker—but he loved it all the same."

"When did your parents ship you off to your grandmother?" He seemed angry now, and I couldn't tell why.

"They didn't ship me off," I protested, even though that's precisely what they had done. "It was just that my parents were very busy. Viv is older than me, and I was a surprise baby. My mother was traveling a lot with Daddy, so they decided when I was eight to send me to my grandmother. I had an amazing childhood."

Mateo nodded. "And you don't mind that your family didn't want you around?"

I closed my eyes and set my wine glass down. I stood up then. "Mateo, I feel like you're very irritated with me."

"I'm not. Far from it. We're just having a conversation."

"It feels like an interrogation. It's been some very long days for me. Would you mind if I went to bed?"

Mateo nodded. "Sure. I can see myself out once I'm done." He held up his half-full glass of wine.

I hesitated. Wasn't it rude to leave him by himself?

"Go, Esme. Get some rest. I'm going to be fine."

"Okay. Goodnight, Mateo."

I was walking away when he spoke softly. "You don't seem to mind your parents not wanting you, and now you don't seem to mind that Dec doesn't want you. What kind of a person are you?"

I felt my temper rise. I turned around; my hands curled up in fists. "Exhausted. That's the kind of person I am. I did not create this situation. I'm just trying to make the best of it. And no one is making it easy."

"Why did you say yes to marrying your sister's fiancée?"

"Because my mother asked me," I stated. "I care about the people in my life and it’s important for me to be there for them. Isn't that what one is supposed to do?"

He came up to me then and stood in front of me. I was probably a sight; my hair was all over the place, my eyes tired, and the makeup I had inexpertly put on long gone. I stood with my shoes in one hand and a glass of wine in the other.

Mateo put his hands on my shoulders. "Esme, you cannot let everyone walk all over you. I know you're young. And all of us are a decade older than you. But you shouldn't let us take advantage of you."

"What would you have me do?" I asked desperately.

"When I was an asshole, you should've asked me to shut up and mind my business."

I gaped at him. "Right! Can you imagine what my father would say? And what would Declan say?"

"He thinks you're a doormat, Esme; show him who you are."

I looked down; my eyes were filled with tears. “And what if I am just what he thinks I am? A doormat?”

Mateo brushed his lips on my forehead. "I'm sorry I upset you."

The front door opened then, and Declan stepped in. He looked at Mateo and me, standing close. I wanted to pull away, but Mateo didn't let me.

He brushed a kiss on my cheek. "Thank you for a wonderful evening, Esme. Have a good night."

Declan was furious, and his anger was palpable.

I stepped away and smiled uneasily.

"Goodnight, Mateo." I turned to face Declan and braced myself, "Goodnight, Declan."

"I'll send our guest on his way and come to your room," Declan said pointedly. "We need to have a conversation."

I felt deflated and walked into my room. I could never make anyone happy. Everyone wanted me to be someone else, something else. Except for Abuela, no one accepted me the way I was.

Don't be a doormat.

Be assertive.

Don't talk too much.

Just shut up and be part of the background.

Dress properly.

What the hell are you wearing?

Stand up for yourself.

Sit down and shut up.