Benne

lly tousled, her ski-goggle tan perfectly accentuated the single, glistening tear tracing

with expertly feigned sorrow. "How could y

wounded gaze was fixed solely on h

if he' d been burned. He took a half-step aw

is hair. The powerful, decisive Justin Barlow was gone,

ier bravado gone, replaced by theatrical tears.

bbed into her shoulder. "We di

ertram wailed, pointing an a

poor babies," she cooed, her voice dripping with poison. "Justin, you promised me. You promised y

al blow. You promised y

cion and then promptly abandoned them to chase medals and endorsements. Justin had been devastated.

promised me a life of partnership, of mutual respect. He said h

lieve him. I thought I could

. We were all in its path. In that split second of chaos, I saw Justin's true heart. He didn't reach for me. He didn'

. I remember staring at the snow, at a single, shocking splash of red against the pri

t same desperate, protective expression, th

between his past and his present. Then he tu

coming. I had kn

oice cold and final. "

. I, the publicly humiliated wife, was to apologize to t

d of caring. Tired of trying to earn a plac

expression of pure, venomous triumph. I looked at Justin, his face set in

was a battlefield. And I

took a step toward Carolina, whose triumphant sm

t startled everyone, including myself. "I am sorry that I ever

to include Just

lways has been." I gave them a small,

aving a stunned, perfect tableau of a fa

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