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
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