Faking Forever (First Wives #4)(49)

He placed his phone on the table and pressed play.

His staff exchanged nervous glances as the drum riff of Simon and Garfunkel’s hit about all the ways to leave your lover started to fill the room. When the words started to sink in and the chorus played, the nervous looks of his employees turned to smiles and laughter.

Victor was pretty sure he burped up mezcal at the memory of singing the song with a near stranger in a Tulum bar.

The song ended and the air in the room eased.

“Seems Corrie realized I was a workaholic asshole, wised up, and ran in the opposite direction as fast as she could.”

No one in the room disagreed with him.

Not one.

He laughed. “Okay . . . tell me what I missed.”



Shannon’s studio was a tight, comfortable space with a room in the back fit for photo shoots. Her small office sported a TV-size monitor where she could scroll through the images she’d taken and narrow down the best shots without clicking on each one.

Even though Victor and Corrie’s wedding was one that would never have the bride and the groom skimming the images, Shannon found herself sifting through the pictures anyway.

The tightness in the faces of the bride and groom had been passed off as nerves at the time, but now when she was looking at them, Shannon saw something completely different.

Doubt.

Easily deduced in light of Corrie taking off, but even with Victor. He’d been so uptight when she first started taking his photograph with his groomsmen.

She came across the pictures she’d managed of Victor and Justin. Their resemblance really popped on camera, especially when they smiled.

Shannon filed a couple of the better, more natural shots in a folder and continued through the pictures. She’d taken several shots while the guests were being seated . . . of Victor standing on the sidelines, waiting for word that Corrie was on her way. She zoomed in on an image where Justin was saying something to Victor that drew out a heated response. Then she found one of Victor looking at his watch.

From then on, the images she caught were pictures no one realized she was taking. Her lens had focused on Victor when he’d told his guests that his bride had cold feet. His gaze looked over the people, avoiding eye contact. Embarrassed? Upset? Shannon couldn’t decipher his mood.

The somber mood of the people that lingered after Victor left could be felt in the photographs. They huddled in small groups, drank the free liquor, ate the food. At some point someone made an executive decision to set the food up on a long table, and the local families that walked up and down the beach tempting tourists with their handmade trinkets were offered a free meal.

That was when Shannon took picture after picture.

The local children laughed with their siblings with bright eyes and animated faces. They stuffed their bodies with food and their souls with their family. These kids had next to nothing in terms of things. It was apparent in their lack of shoes that fit and the clothes that looked as if they’d been passed down six times before reaching their backs. But they had what so many people didn’t.

Each other.

For the first time in a long while, Shannon thought of her own sister. Where was she now? Angie had dropped out of school to join the Peace Corps years ago, eventually finished school in Spain, and had continued her volunteer efforts tutoring English in remote locations in Brazil. When she didn’t come home for the holidays again last year, her mother had hinted that Angie was considering traveling to Africa next.

“That girl won’t be happy until she contracts some incurable disease.”

Their parents didn’t approve.

On impulse, Shannon fished her cell phone from her purse and dialed the only number she had for her sister.

The phone rang four times and went to voice mail, a common occurrence with a woman who frequented places that didn’t have running water.

“Hey, Angie . . . it’s Shannon. I was thinking about you and wanted to catch up. Where the heck are you now? It’s been too long. I love you, sis. Call me sometime.”

She disconnected the call with a shrug. She’d left messages like that in the past, only to hear back six months later in the form of a card or word passed on through their parents.

Somewhere around the time Shannon married Paul, her sister had faded out of her life without explanation. Shannon asked herself why. They never crossed words, agreed on most political positions, and got along when she did show her face.

Shannon had never come right out and asked her sister what she had done to be ignored. Probably because she wasn’t prepared to hear the answer.

Who was she kidding? Alone with her own thoughts, she couldn’t be honest with herself.

Angie had never approved of Paul. When they’d announced their engagement and rapid trip to the chapel, her sister sent a brief letter. The words had been etched in Shannon’s brain for years.

What happened to my sister with her big dreams of fixing the screwed up world one revealing photograph at a time and ideals that weren’t spoon-fed by our parents? You’re selling out. You’re more than some man’s political wife.

Her sister had been right, which hurt to hear. But at the time it solved so many problems. Shannon was outsmarting her parents by signing a temporary contract to be Paul’s wife.

The arrangement was a two-year job she was utterly skilled at performing. She hadn’t dated anyone seriously since college, so when presented with a marriage that would end with six million in her account and a home—and her parents off her back—she took it. The only downfall Shannon foresaw at the time was if she’d met someone during her marriage and couldn’t act on it.