Tabitha stood in the darkness in the back of the ballroom, shifting from foot to foot in her high heels, trying to take deep, calming breaths. Her body trembled and the air came into her lungs in jagged gasps. She applauded as Giovanni went onstage to accept his medal for Best Overall Winery. His chest was covered with medals from every category he had entered, but he didn’t swagger or strut. He wore a bashful smile and embraced other competitors as he passed them. He hadn’t been nervous at all this morning, calmly sipping his coffee and chuckling while reading a newspaper. Tabitha, in contrast, paced his hotel room in manic spurts of nervous energy, struggling to walk in the floor-length gown she’d purchased for today’s ceremony. She wondered what he was thinking about now, but suspected she knew. His daughters, she thought, who would be so proud. His uncle and father, who wanted this much more than he did. He was happy to make them happy but did not care all that much about it for himself. Something about his disconnection from the prizes made it so much sweeter to watch him win.

“Well, this will change a lot of things for that scrappy little Italian winery.” She turned to see Mark, his eyes facing front but speaking low so only she could hear. “You know he doesn’t have plans to expand? When I asked him what he would do if he wins, and he said not a whole lot will change.”

Tabitha smiled. “He’s not a man who needs a constant upgrade.”

“Nice change for you, I would think,” he remarked.

“Yes. I don’t know what to do with a man who is already content. Maybe this time I will die from lack of anxiety.”

He chuckled. “I don’t think you can die from that.” They watched Giovanni move backstage with the other winery winners. He stepped back as he walked, put his hand on the back of another competitor, made sure everyone got through the door to the back room before he walked through. Tabitha’s heart swelled against her ribs. “He’s a good person,” Mark continued. “We had a lot of fun with you two. I’m glad you joined us the other night.”

“Thanks for having us. It was nice to get out of here. My sides still ache from laughing so hard.”

“Do you think you’ll marry him?”

She nudged him with her shoulder, grateful for the darkness so he couldn’t see the blush warming her face. “Come on. You are getting way ahead of yourself, pal.”

“Do you think you’ll help me with the article?”

The air left her lungs in a sudden, icy gust, and she turned to face him.

“You are relentless. No means no. Didn’t they teach you that in school?”

He put up a hand in defense, kept his voice calm even though she had already attracted some attention.

“Don’t get mad at me for what Royal Hamilton did. That’s called misplaced anger, and we both know it.”

“Why exactly do you have to bring it up now? You don’t think I’m nervous enough as it is?”

“You have nothing to be nervous about.”

A shush pierced the air. Tabitha glanced toward the stage, where a new round of awards was going on.

“Nothing to be nervous about? Are you insane? What kind of psychopath wouldn’t be nervous at a competition like this?” Her voice had risen again, and people stared.

Mark grabbed her arm and pulled her into the hallway.

“Why do you have to bring this up now?” she yelled as soon as the door shut behind them. “What kind of person are you? I would think you are the one person who gets that the results of this competition will make or break my career.”

“I do get that, Tabitha. You’re so lost in your mania about this competition that you don’t even see what’s right in front of your face. You have nothing to be worried about because you’re not going to win.”

Tabitha stood with her mouth open, struck dumb by his statement.

“Why do you refuse to see this? In a few minutes, he will walk away with the big prize. The judges might throw you a bone, maybe an honorable mention of some sort, but I doubt it. He will have arranged that, too. I am telling you that you have no chance.”

“Fuck you!”

A wounded expression crossed his face, but Mark continued. “Not because you’re not good enough. You’re the best somm here. Everyone knows it, including Royal. But the SommFest has been rigged since before you walked in the door.”

“If he’s so determined to beat me, how do you explain Giovanni? Why would he let Giovanni win all those medals?”

Mark shook his head. “He doesn’t know Giovanni exists, Tabitha. I don’t understand how you could have been married to this guy for so long and have no clue what he is about. Giovanni is nothing to him. You think he cares about Giovanni’s ten-thousand-cases-a-year winery? Royal Hamilton wants his wines served in Buckingham Palace. That a little Italian winery has never even crossed his mind. I guarantee you that he hasn’t even noticed.”

“Tabitha.”

She turned to see Giovanni standing next to her, his face still flushed from the win, but his expression concerned. She pulled him into a hug. “I’m so proud of you! Look at this!” She put her hand over the gold medals hanging on wide blue silk ribbons around his neck. “This is awesome! So amazing!” Tabitha realized her compliment was too loud, like a crazy, overeager parent, screeching at a child who just won a spelling bee. But she could not control herself, or the manic smile on her face. Giovanni’s eyes darted between her and Mark, who reached out a hand to congratulate him. She tried to control her breathing.

“I believe you are next?” Giovanni asked quietly.

She nodded and followed his outstretched hand into the ballroom, stalking past Mark without looking at him. He took a place along the back wall, far away from where she and Giovanni stood. She stood in front of Giovanni, leaning back against his chest, and tried to calm herself. Mark watched the announcer with an inscrutable expression on his face, and Tabitha nearly vibrated out of her skin with anger. Giovanni’s hand squeezed her shoulder.

The announcer called out the final category, International Sommelier of the Year, with a brief history of the prestigious award. Tabitha wanted to scan the room for Royal but didn’t let her eyes drift from the emcee, with his pinched face and impeccable tuxedo, looking every bit the snootiest wine snob in the world. Royal was somewhere in this room, most likely with an arm thrown around the chair next to him and an ankle resting on his knee. Smiling an icy smile. He would not be wearing a tie, although protocol said black tie for this event. He’d put one on as he walked to the stage, a move she used to find unbearably sexy. I’ll follow your silly rules, he always seemed to be saying, but I will do it on my time, and we both know that I look better than you anyway.

She kept her eyes forward, not wanting to catch his eye accidentally. Though there was no chance in hell he was looking for her. Royal was such an enormous class of arrogant that he didn’t bother scanning the room looking for better company. Everyone looked at Royal, and he chose the gaze he wanted to return.

Her vision tunneled on the stage, the bright lights circling on the emcee and the rest of the room spinning in the darkness around him. Her pulse pounded behind her eyes. One of two things was about to happen. She might win the contest she had dreamed of winning for her entire adult life. Her life was possibly about to change in every conceivable way. She held a lottery ticket in her hand, four of the five numbers had been called, and she was waiting for that last number to match, to see if she was about to become a new person.

Or. The other thing might happen. Royal might win. Her stomach hollowed out at the thought, and she clenched her fingers into fists at her side. It was a possibility. She couldn’t sort through the ocean of emotions she had for that outcome.

There were other people here. Tabitha had barely thought about them all week. Some of them were friends, former colleagues, people who had worked just as hard as she had for this honor. They must be having the same emotions she was having.

But somehow, she couldn’t imagine it. The world had become too intensely focused. It came down to her and Royal. It seemed everyone in the world must know that fact right now, everyone wondering who would win: the cheater or the wronged wife, the arrogant Brit or the awkward American, the one who looked good or the one who worked hard. The bad guy or the good guy. Surely everyone in the room saw this battle in the same black-and-white terms as she did.

“I’m pleased to announce the winner of this year’s International Sommelier of the Year…”

A thought hit her like a thunderbolt, clear as a polished crystal wine glass, and she was suddenly surer of this knowledge than anything else in the world: she deserved to win. She was a better sommelier.

“Royal Hamilton!”

Her vision went black; her ears went deaf to the applause of the audience. She could not see anything else except Royal, sauntering up the stairs to the stage. As she had predicted, he clasped a bowtie around his neck as he walked, taking the stairs at a leisurely pace, wearing a lazy grin. Royal had all the time in the world.

She still could not hear anything, but she saw Royal reach out toward the audience as he spoke, gesturing toward someone with his open hand and a wide smile on his face. Tabitha didn’t know who he indicated, but she could guess. Sure enough, heads turned, and all focus turned toward a long-legged blonde woman who managed to acknowledge the adoration without taking her eyes off Royal. Several eyes in the room darted over to her, some in embarrassment, some in righteous anger, some in pity. Tabitha hoped they were horrified that he’d left her for the blonde, but she suspected most people thought Royal Hamilton had scored an upgrade. What could she do now? She’d give anything to walk out of here, anything not to have to watch him gaze lovingly at someone else’s face and feel the pity of the room. But there was no way to walk out without looking like a spoiled, sore loser. She had to stay, had to endure the looks alone, had to act polite and cheerful for his win.

Her rage at Mark shrank into a pinprick of sour shame in her gut.

Mark was right.

Every single time she had questioned Royal, every time she mentioned that a new vintage tasted suspiciously like the last, every time she mused that a wine was too sweet or too bitter for the method of production, Royal had stopped her. Every time. He’d question her education, her understanding of wine production. And she’d doubted herself, trusted him, trusted that he was right, and she closed her mouth and let him sell the wine his way. Because she loved him.

What she thought was love then.

She looked around the audience now, watched people watching Royal as he spoke, and saw then that everything Mark McClintock had said was true. Her ex-husband was a sneak and a cheat. She had always known that something was just slightly off about how Royal did business, and how he interacted with other vintners and somms. Royal commanded a lot of sycophantic worship amongst many of their colleagues. She had not allowed herself to notice it before, but she saw it now in the eyes of people watching him, the way the vintners and other somms glanced at each other, defeated, fatalistic looks in their eyes. Well, what can you do? It’s not like we had any say in this matter.

Part of her had always known—the smart, fearless part of her that she smothered in his presence.

It was there. It was all there.