My Husband's Husband
Eight hundred images, and fewer than ten of them showed my face.
The camera hadnt been telling our story; it had been telling his. There was Ethan, my new husband, bending to pick up a fallen napkin, a candid shot of him adjusting his cufflink, his brow furrowed in concentration. My own presence was reduced to a series of blurry profiles, a ghost at my own celebration.
White-hot anger surged through me. Then, a single, jarring photo stopped me cold. I waited until Ethan came out of the shower, a towel slung around his neck.
You know Leo Vance well? I asked, my voice tight.
He paused for half a second, the motion of drying his hair momentarily frozen. Not really.
Then how does he have this?
I spun the laptop around. The image on the screen was of Ethan, shirtless, in the middle of changing. The distinctive red mole on his lower back was in sharp focus. The background was unmistakably the apartment he lived in before we were married.
1
The towel slipped from Ethans hands, hitting the floor with a soft thud.
He bent to retrieve it, and as his shirt lifted, the mole on his lower back was exposeda perfect match to the one in the photograph.
He walked over, his face a mask of carefully constructed confusion. I zoomed in on the photo until the mole filled the screen, an undeniable crimson dot.
He leaned in, his tone casual. Oh, that. I did a favor for a friend of his once, some headshots for his portfolio. He must have slipped it in by mistake.
Ethan reached out to stroke my hair. Its nothing, Sienna. Dont work yourself up. You know how disorganized Leo can be.
Still seething, I pulled away from his touch. Work myself up? Eight hundred photos and my own husbands wedding photographer couldnt find ten decent shots of the bride? Thats nothing?
A private, shirtless photo of you suddenly appearing in the files is nothing? I had spent a week of late nights scrolling through portfolios to find the right photographer. I wanted a perfect ending, a perfect collection of memories.
A wedding is a one-time event. And he was telling me not to work myself up?
His fingers found the mouse, and with a quiet click, he closed the folder. His voice was laced with a weary patience. I told you I didnt want to hire him. You were the one who insisted.
You loved his style so much, so I gave in. Now that its turned into this mess, theres not much to be said, is there?
His words silenced me. He took the opportunity to pull me into his arms.
Come on, Si. Dont be angry.
Well find another studio. Well do a reshoot, something even more beautiful.
I pushed against the strange feeling in my gut. Do you really think a reshoot is the point?
If you had taken five minutes away from your precious work to look at portfolios with me, this disaster wouldnt have happened.
He sighed, a long, theatrical sound. The company is resting entirely on my shoulders right now, Sienna. I cant step away for a single day. You spend your days having fun, of course you dont understand.
He looked at me, his expression a mixture of apology and exhaustion. Trust me, Si. Ill make it right. Youll be happy with the new photos, I promise.
I looked up at him, my anger softening, but a seed of doubt had been quietly planted.
The next morning, Ethan announced he had already booked a session with the top-rated photography studio in all of Crestwood Hills.
A nights sleep had cooled my temper. Maybe he was just under too much pressure, too overwhelmed to focus on the wedding details. I accepted his gesture.
The photoshoot was seamless. The photographer was a true professional, his jokes and easy banter making both Ethan and me laugh. The lingering shadows of the previous night began to dissipate.
But Ethan seemed distracted.
When I stepped out in a new dress, I saw him hunched over his phone, his thumbs flying across the screen. A faint, tender smile played on his lips.
I lifted the hem of my gown and walked toward him, curious. He immediately shoved the phone into his pocket, a flicker of panic in his eyes.
Who was that? I asked casually.
Just work stuff. He wrapped an arm around my waist, his grip a little too tight. God, how do you manage to look so beautiful in everything?
The compliment felt hollow. I pouted. Cant you put work away for one afternoon? Try to be present?
He chuckled, a low, tired sound, and took my hand. I have to build the empire before I can settle in the castle. Thats the only way I can deserve my Sienna.
I squeezed his hand back, my brow furrowing. There you go again. Ive told you, stop thinking like that. I love you. Thats all that matters.
He stared at me for a moment, then pulled me into a hug.
That evening, he gave me an expensive necklace as a peace offering.
For the next week, everything felt normal.
Except he suddenly started a new routine of morning runs and gym sessions. For seven days straight, I woke up to an empty bed.
Then, a notification popped up on my phone. A message from Leo.
Ms. Hale, the edited photos will be ready for you to review tomorrow afternoon.
I frowned, confused. When Ethan got home, I mentioned it to him.
His expression froze. He was pouring a glass of water, and a few drops sloshed onto the counter.
I moved closer. Do you want to come with me to pick up the prints tomorrow? I asked softly.
Ethan hesitated for a beat. Theres no need to speak with a guy like that.
I stepped into his space, looking up at him. He was so unprofessional. I think we should go together. Lets see if hes still so arrogant with you standing right there.
He was silent for a long moment before finally nodding. Okay. Whatever you want.
The next afternoon, the sun beat down relentlessly.
Ethan drove us to a run-down part of the city, navigating the streets with a familiarity that felt unsettling.
Looked up the address online, he explained, a little too quickly.
He parked in front of a tired-looking pre-war walk-up and pointed to a third-floor window. Thats the one.
We climbed the stairs together and knocked.
The door opened to reveal Leo, still in his pajamas. He looked startled to see me.
The photos? Ethan cut straight to the point, his voice hard.
Leo said nothing. He walked over to his computer, clicked a few times, and handed me an external hard drive.
I took it, my voice steady. Mr. Vance, I dont understand. As a wedding photographer, why would you deliberately not photograph the bride? Is that your standard of professional ethics?
Leo leaned against his desk, arms crossed, his gaze flickering past me to Ethan. A mocking smile touched his lips. I shoot what the client asks for.
The fact that I took any photos of you was a courtesy. Right, Ethan?
Ethans face turned ashen. Leo, thats enough, he snapped.
Leo just shrugged, a picture of indifference. Ill refund your money.
His dismissiveness sent a fresh wave of anger through me. I opened my mouth to argue, but Ethan grabbed my arm, pulling me toward the door.
Lets go, Sienna. Theres no point arguing with someone like him.
In the split second before the door clicked shut, my eyes darted around the room. A flash of dark wood in the corner caught my attention, and my breath hitched.
It was an acoustic guitar, a deep mahogany. Near the bottom of the body was a thin, silvery scratcha scar I had accidentally made years ago on Ethans beloved college guitar.
Hed told me hed thrown it out.
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