Free Promises to Keep by Jane Green

yes.
    Olivia hated her mother. She hated her mother’s snobbery, her mother’s constant demands that she marry “someone of our class.” Mason was no slouch. A graduate of Harvard Business School, he was already, when they met, a bright star in publishing, but his beginnings were humble, and Olivia’s mother never thought he was good enough.
    Of course Olivia wanted to marry him. It was the ultimate snub to her family.
    And Mason? Surely he should have known better? He did, but he was intoxicated by Olivia’s world; it was so very different from anything he had ever known and he was swept away by the romance and the possibility of it.
    And that Olivia, this golden beauty who was so tiny and delicate, and had such sweetness, should be interested in him was extraordinary. The fact that, even in the early days of dating, they seemed to have different interests was charming back then. He found her social nature adorable. It was a perfect foil for his more introverted personality, forced him to go out more, which seemed a good thing at the time.
    Her extensive involvement in charity was impressive. He thought she was a truly good person, sitting on all these boards, raising so much money for so many good causes. He remembers being truly shocked when he asked her about one of her charities and she had no idea what they actually did. It wasn’t about raising money, he quickly discovered, it was about remaining at the top of the social ladder.
    She is obsessed with appearing in New York Times Style section, is on air-kissing terms with all the photographers, friends with all the fashion designers, who make dresses for her, gratis, in return for publicity.
    Mason is an accessory, a shadowy figure in black tie who stands awkwardly with the other shadowy figures in black tie, being pulled out by their wives for the occasional photo opportunity.
    He has thought, often, about leaving, but if the thought itself is exhausting, the actual physical process of doing so would be utterly overwhelming. It isn’t that he hates his wife, or even dislikes her. He just has no idea what they are doing together. They barely speak, and if they do have a meal together—like Olivia coming to Joni’s the other day—it is because they have something concrete to discuss, in this case the logistics of their move to London.
    Then there are the children to consider. He has to stay because if he wasn’t there, their lives would be filled with a series of nannies. Olivia loves her children, of that he has no doubt, but she loves them more when they are beautifully behaved, when they are dressed impeccably, when there are other people to see her perfect family.
    When the children are tired, or whiny, or acting up, as all children do, Olivia will step out of the elevator yelling, “Christy?” or “Elena?” or “Dominica?” to whichever nanny or housekeeper is around that afternoon.
    It is not Olivia’s fault, he thinks sadly. Her own mother stayed in the hospital for ten days after she gave birth to Olivia, sending Olivia home with a baby nurse and nanny.
    She would see Olivia in the morning, when Olivia was sent downstairs for breakfast, dressed and washed, and for a short while again in the afternoon, before Olivia was taken to the nursery for tea. Her mother was English and, despite living in Texas, followed the English upper-class traditions exactly.
    When Olivia was excited, or upset, or had cut her knee, or had a fight with her best friend, or got into trouble in school, or didn’t like her music class, or fell off her pony, the person to whom she ran was Nanny.
    Her mother was busy lunching and socializing, and had little time for Olivia unless it was on her rigid terms.
    Now the pattern is being repeated with Olivia’s own children. Except instead of one long-term nanny to love them and raise them, there is a series of young girls, none of whom has ever lasted beyond a year.
    When their knees are scraped, or they are happy or sad, it is