bedroom for years. Faith sat by the left window, her shoulder pressed to the cold glass, and watc

between them like a border wall. He'd loosened his tie-silk, Hermès, the pattern she'd sel

her

en delivery trucks, puffs of breath visible in the cold air. The cyclist wore a backpack

ssed that li

hrough the engine's h

n. "There's an arrangement. Her career, certain prot

asn't betrayal? Wasn't another way to remind me

s exactly why I never-" He caught himself. "There are con

ter the second miscarriage. That when I found another woman's jewelry in your desk, you didn't even bother to

lass beside her-handsome still, always handsome, the face that ha

the tone he'd used in the early years when they'd still shared a be

be bothered to attend. I learned to read financial statements because you refused to explain where our money came from.

nged. The car

ed on her wrist-hard, sudden, the grip of a man

is

ho

ainst his thumb, rabbit-fast. "There's someone. There has to be. You wouldn't-" He

into her skin, the family crest she'd once traced in i

t g

me his

re never was. That was your mistake, Branson. You thought I needed someone else to wa

on, might force this confrontation into physical territory

st. No marks, she saw. Not yet. But they'd bloom later

power, all this money, and you're terrified of being alone. Of being

edding-cake grandeur, columns and steps and the constant flow of

," the driv

king something she didn't have words for. She pushed open her door and stepped int