Genevieve's Middle Name

One

Why do people marry? When do they realize that the person they're with is someone they have to hold on to for the rest of their life? Does it start with the erratic, jumbled beating of their heart when they first leaned in under the surreal San Francisco lights, the smell of fresh peonies still lingering in the air as they get the first taste of the rest of their days?

Or did it start off as a lingering stare, catching their gaze from right across the hall as you struggle to pretend as if you weren't sitting there burning your ass off for the past hour with your coffee long gone just to see her read a book in the same spot at the same coffee shop every Thursday night?

Looking at the man from across the room, Genevieve wished to all things holy that what they have, or rather what they had was as clumsy and as imperfect as accidentally clashing your teeth together on a first date kiss.

Sebastian Frederick Leander Avington IV was casually talking with his colleagues, and by the way he's standing Genevieve was sure he was not enjoying their company. He was rubbing his thumb and index finger together impatiently, and after five years of being with the man she knew this as a sign of irritation.

She tipped her head back as she sipped from her champagne flute. White Gold Jeroboam, she found out as the taste filled her senses. Genevieve mentally rolled her eyes at the thought of the forty thousand dollar drink and knew that Sebastian chose this specifically for her. The man wanted to make sure that even her tongue was bathing in money.

Genevieve's fingers played with the details on her Versace evening dress, the colors practically matching the champagne she was currently clutching in her hand. She momentarily closed her eyes, and wished that she was in a different place. Central Park, Africa or even Antarctica. She'd go anywhere in the damn world, anywhere but here.

"Genevieve, darling? Is that you?" a voice spoke. Genevieve turned with the utmost grace of a socialite who became the most desirable debutante at the Annual Fortwright Ball. Which she was, nobody could stop talking about it in every Hamptons household, it made her mother outrageously happy.

She was greeted by the sight of a man in his late fifties, with a stern demeanor yet very light and kind eyes. Genevieve practically rushed towards the man, grateful for some company she could appreciate.

"Uncle Graham, how I've missed you." The girl exclaimed, hugging the man as tight as she could. The blonde beauty has not seen her rambunctious Uncle for months and she missed him dearly. He was the only one who could truly understand her in that godforsaken house.

"Not as much as I missed you, squirt. How have you been? Sebastian treating you well? You seemed sad from across the room." he told her gently.

They didn't really talk like British people from the 1900's, but they at least tried when around people in these gatherings. The two knew the charade and they had to keep it up if they didn't want to be the next gossip around the social circle.

Genevieve was triggered, her mind suddenly flashed vivid memories. They were rattling and throwing themselves in her head it almost felt painful. If she concentrated hard enough, she's sure she could still feel the st-