Then asked to go anyway.
She wanted to find out whether she could look at Adrian without needing him to understand everything he’d done.
When she entered, he was already seated.
He stood.
For a moment, she noticed how familiar his movements remained.
The way he adjusted his jacket.
The slight inclination of his head.
The habit of glancing at a person’s face before speaking, as though assessing what kind of answer would be most effective.
He looked older.
There were faint lines around his eyes.
He had lost some of the polished confidence that once seemed inseparable from him.
“Hello, Iris.”
“Adrian.”
They sat.
Their advisers reviewed the outstanding matters.
Documents were exchanged.
Questions were answered.
The formal discussion took less than an hour.
When it ended, Adrian hesitated.
“Could I ask you something?”
Iris looked at him.
“You can ask.”
He glanced toward the door.
Their advisers stepped outside after confirming that neither had further procedural questions.
The room became quiet.
Adrian looked at his hands.
“Did you know everything before the wedding?”
Iris considered.
“Enough.”
“How long?”
“Several weeks.”
He nodded slowly.
For a moment, he appeared genuinely troubled.
“You stood beside me all that time.”
She looked at him.
“Yes.”
“You let me believe everything was normal.”
Iris studied his face.
The accusation was almost astonishing.
For months, she had waited to hear how he would describe the wedding once the immediate anger faded.
Now she understood.
He was still able to recognise the cruelty of deception most clearly when he had been the one deceived.
She did not become angry.
Instead, she asked, “What would you have preferred?”
He looked up.
“That you tell me.”
“When?”
“As soon as you knew.”
Iris considered.
“Would you have told me the truth?”
Adrian said nothing.
She waited.
Then he looked away.
For several seconds, they sat in silence.
Finally, he said, “I loved you.”
Iris felt the familiar ache.
There it was again.
The sentence he’d offered at the wedding.
At Richard’s house.
In letters.
In messages.
Always as though love explained something sufficient.
She looked at him.
“I believe you felt love for me.”
His expression softened.
She continued.
“But you also loved what being with me gave you.”
He looked down.
“That’s not fair.”
Iris smiled faintly.
“Perhaps.”
For the first time, she did not feel compelled to argue about the word.
She gathered her papers.
Adrian watched.
“Do you regret the speech?”
Iris stopped.
She considered carefully.
“Parts of it.”
He looked up, surprised.
“I regret humiliating Celia in front of people who had no right to her private life.”
His expression changed.
“I regret turning our marriage into entertainment for strangers.”
She looked at him.
“And I regret believing that hurting you publicly would make what you did hurt me less.”
Adrian remained still.
Then he asked, “So you think you were wrong?”
Iris looked at him for a long moment.
It would have been easy to retreat into certainty.
To insist that every part of her response had been justified because his betrayal came first.
She no longer needed that defence.
“I think some of my choices were wrong.”
Adrian leaned forward.
Hope appeared too quickly.
Then Iris continued.
“That doesn’t make yours disappear.”
The hope faded.
She stood.
He rose as well.
For a moment, they faced each other across the table.
Adrian looked as though he wanted to embrace her.
He did not move.
“Do you ever miss us?” he asked.
Iris considered.
“Sometimes.”
His expression softened again.
She looked down at the papers in her hand.
“I miss the dinners. The holidays. I miss how easily we used to talk before everything became a negotiation.”
Adrian swallowed.
“So do I.”
She nodded.
Then looked up.
“But I don’t miss wondering which version of you was telling me the truth.”
He lowered his eyes.
Iris moved toward the door.
“Goodbye, Adrian.”
