opened to the grey light of dawn. The memory was so vivid it felt like it was happening all over

right away. He had simply sat there, tapping his long, elegant fingers o

y, his voice calm and even. "Would

nt of romance. It was the gaze of a businessman evaluating an asset. He remembered who she was. O

Someone to keep my grandmother happy. Someone quiet, who wo

irony was a physical ache in her chest. But she had no choice. Her mothe

the bar at a museum fundraiser where she knew he'd be, volunteering for a committee he sponsored, edging close enough during a waltz at the Deveraux wedding that she could catch the scent of his cologne. He had never once noticed her. She had been invi

s. "I agree," she had whispered, her voice barely au

an even deeper layer of scorn. It was as if he had been hoping for a different answer, and her quick acce

ed it onto the passenger seat. "The PIN is your bir

a trembling hand, Evelyn had reached into the car and picked up the card, f

n a document, then went to his lawyer's office to sign a prenuptial agreement that was thic

liver of hope that perhaps, over time, he might grow to care for her. That hope died on their wedding

obbing wound. The living room was empty. Francisco was gone. It was as if the

s standard fee for services rendered. It was his way of re

in the side table. She placed it on top of the thick stack already ther

crubbing her skin until it was raw, but she couldn't wash away the feeling of his touch, or t

t yet. She had to go to the hos

strength. Whatever humiliation she endured in this house, i

s just another day in her loveless, brutal marriage