suite. Alistair was sitting on a low sofa, a laptop open on his knees. He didn't loo

She let her shoulders slump, her eyes fall to th

gs from the guest wing. She chose her most conservative dresses, her plainest sweate

you like f

ashmere sweater in her hands. In two years, he had never asked he

k of timid compliance. "Wh

ng her with an unreadable, analytical gaze. "L

mentioned it once, ages ago, on what was supposed to be th

d her surprise. It wa

uble," she said, her voice soft and brea

domesticity. Build the image of a

"You cook?" The skepticism i

egg properly. "I can learn," she insisted, p

but it wasn't a recipe she was sea

fake being a gourme

ing of question mark emojis, followed b

restaurant. Put it on your own

lli

have in the kitchen," Chloe

r from La Grenouille's delivery service: their signature se

on accomplished. She could hear Alistair on the

. PR strategy.

tened herself against the wall ju

s sharp, impatient. "No more interviews without my of

g to do damage control. Worried his little star

ding her phone. She quietly activated the voice r

the call ended. Alistair turned, his g

you doin

ne. She fumbled to stop the recording

"I... I was just coming to

far too much. Then he started walking toward her, his steps slow and deliberate. He s

steak," he

ce a devastating whisper. "And, Chloe... when yo

l this time. All her careful planning, her pathetic little act, laid bare

ping from her face to her nec

aw it. A faint, reddish-purple mark on her neck, just below her jaw, not

remnant from

the infidelity evidence-was built on a foundation of sand. The moment he decided to call her bluff, the m

proof of another man's touch that

evidence. And it