Page 25 of The Rebound Plan

I put the finishing touches on my lipgloss, then press my lips together. “If you like it, then yes. That’s what I’m wearing for dinner. This afternoon is jeans.”

“Yeah, okay.” He pauses. “The dress is great. Classier than what some of the other girls are wearing, probably.”

I wince, knowing that’s a dig at Harper, who is unbothered by fashion most of the time and primarily motivated by the function of her clothes, and Kiley, who is actually very fashionable, but also tall and plus-sized—which Max can’t see past. Plus it’s a cottage weekend, for God’s sake. Everyone should wear whatever they like.

But also, we try. All of us. We try to fit in, and be what they want, and we all do our best. I do it because Max demanded it in our marriage contract. Others do it…I guess for love. I wish I still did it for love. That’s there, I think, but there’s resentment piled on top of it.

Instead of reacting, I focus on giving myself a final critical gaze in the mirror.

Silence stretches between us. He wants me to agree with him, that we’re better than his teammates and their wives and girlfriends. I’m not going to do that. Those women are my friends, and Max’s need to constantly one-up everyone is exhausting.

When I don’t reply, he comes closer, watching me in the mirror.

“Hun,” he murmurs, pressing his front against my back. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t say that our friends aren’t classy.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it.” He squeezes me tighter, holding extended eye contact in the mirror. It’s unsettling. I hope he can’t tell that I just quietly got myself off in the shower.

How would he know?

Twisting, I put my back to the mirror and wind my arms around his neck. Good wife, good wife, good wife.

Downstairs, someone hollers that it’s time to go, and relief rolls through me. I pat his arm. “I’ll get dressed really fast. Be right there.”

He heads downstairs ahead of me and I pull on the dress, then check my hair in the mirror again.

I’m about to put on my shoes when I get a news alert on my phone from the Scoreboard app.

Like any good captain’s wife, I follow sports news in surface ways. I never want to be caught off-guard or make Max look bad when we’re at an event. But I don’t usually click on headlines.

This one is different.

My heart in my throat, my fingers shaking, I stab the screen to read more beyond “Dumas to invest in new league?”

French billionaire Francois Michel Dumas, pictured here in Toronto this morning having brunch in Yorkville, is rumoured to be interested in funding a new pro hockey league. Spotted in both Toronto and New York this weekend, he’s said to be meeting primarily with agents before officially announcing the rival league, anticipated to make a splash next season with no salary cap and a revenue model driven by streaming games online and designer merch collabs.

A trademark submission for the name Ice League has been submitted, an internet search confirms.

Known for savvy investments in other start-up sports ventures, Dumas’s involvement suddenly vaults the Ice League from a novelty rumour to bonafide business-changer in North America’s fourth-highest revenue professional sport.

He’s been busy in the eight years since I last saw him, I think dimly. I remember him talking about hustling to get a piece of a racing team, and buying a rugby team.

It all seemed so indulgent, so wasteful with his money, but what did I know about business? Apparently nothing.

Because a French billionaire who once entertained the world’s most rich and powerful on his yacht with me perched by his side is getting into pro sport in North America in the splashiest of ways.

These two worlds were never meant to collide. Not again, not after Max stole me away from “all that” and gave me respectability.

Back then, Max got a charge out of snatching me from the grasp of a much wealthier man.

Now?

Shock ripples through me as I wonder if Max knew this when he was talking to his agent.

If it informed the strange expression on his face as he looked at me in the mirror.

From the foyer, Max calls, “Shannon, get your butt down here!”

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