Chapter 1 - Then the doors behind us slammed open.
Not violently.
Not dramatically enough for the room to erupt.
But hard enough that every head turned.
Dominic Russo stood beneath the arched doorway with one hand still resting against the brass handle.
He was not surrounded by men.
He had not brought half of Chicago with him.
He had come alone.
That frightened me more than an entourage would have.
Dominic had changed out of the charcoal suit he had worn at home and into a black jacket without a tie. His dark hair was slightly disordered, as though he had run his hand through it several times on the drive from Lake Forest.
For eight months, I had watched him enter rooms.
Restaurants.
Charity dinners.
Meetings at our house.
A Christmas party hosted by his mother.
Dominic never looked uncertain.
Tonight, for perhaps the first time, he did.
His gaze found me immediately.
Then it moved to Adrian Cross.
Adrian remained beside the piano, holding his glass with the same relaxed expression he had worn when I walked in.
“Well,” Adrian murmured, low enough that only I could hear. “That was quicker than I expected.”
I turned toward him.
“You expected him?”
“I expected him to hear.”
That made my stomach tighten.
“You told him?”
Adrian looked offended.
“Claire, I have many flaws. Being boring is not one of them. If I had called your husband myself, I would at least admit it.”
Across the room, Dominic began walking toward us.
People quietly returned to their conversations, but badly. No one was fooling anyone. Half the ballroom had tilted in our direction.
I suddenly regretted coming.
Not because Dominic was here.
Because I realized I had done something reckless for the first time in my adult life, and I had mistaken recklessness for freedom.
There was a difference.
My father had been reckless.
He had gambled money he did not have, borrowed from people he should never have approached, and called every disaster “bad luck.”
I had spent years cleaning up after his definition of freedom.
I would not become him simply because my husband had hurt me.
Adrian must have noticed the change in my face.
“You can leave through the garden,” he said quietly.
I looked at him.
“No one will stop you. You don’t owe either of us a performance.”
That surprised me.
The stories about Adrian Cross had painted him as arrogant, calculating, and almost pathologically competitive with Dominic.
Yet there was no satisfaction in his expression.
Only curiosity.
Dominic stopped three feet away.
His eyes settled on my dress before lifting to my face.
For one absurd second, I remembered the first time he had seen it.
It had arrived by mistake with several things Tessa had ordered for me before a charity gala.
I had stepped out of the dressing room laughing because it was brighter than anything I normally wore.
Dominic had been passing through the bedroom.
He stopped.
Really stopped.
His gaze had moved over the red silk, then away so quickly that I had assumed he hated it.
“Burn it,” he had said.
I had laughed.
He had not.
I had put the dress in the back of my wardrobe and worn gray instead.
Tonight, Dominic looked at it in exactly the same way.
Except now I understood there might have been more behind that look than dislike.
“Claire.”
His voice was low.
“Dominic.”
Adrian lifted his glass.
“Russo.”
Dominic glanced toward him.
“Cross.”
It was almost absurdly civilized.
Two men who had spent years refusing to occupy the same room were standing beside a Steinway piano exchanging surnames like reluctant neighbors.
Dominic turned back to me.
“May I speak to you?”
“You already did.”
Something flickered in his face.
Pain, perhaps.
Or irritation.
Eight months ago, I would have tried to decipher it.
Tonight, I was too tired.
“There’s nothing else to say,” I continued.
“There is.”
“You told me you never wanted me.”
“I know what I said.”
“Good. Then this should be easy.”
I reached for the tiny purse hanging from my wrist.
“I’ll stay at Tessa’s tonight. Tomorrow we can discuss whatever practical arrangements need to be made.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened.
“Arrangements?”
“Annulment. Separation. Divorce. Pick whichever word makes your lawyers happiest.”
That produced the first real reaction.
His shoulders went rigid.
“Claire.”
“What?”
“I did not say I wanted a divorce.”
I stared at him.
Somewhere behind us, someone laughed too loudly at a joke no one had heard.
“You said you don’t want me as your wife.”
“I said—”
“You said exactly that.”
He stopped.
For a moment, the most controlled man I knew appeared to have run out of sentences.
Adrian looked between us.
Then, unexpectedly, he set down his drink.
“I believe this is where a good host develops an urgent interest in the catering.”
He stepped away.
Dominic watched him go.
“You came here alone?”
“That’s your concern?”
“Yes.”
“You forfeited the right to be concerned at approximately 8:17.”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“You checked the time?”
“I was staring at the clock over your shoulder while you dismantled my marriage.”
His expression changed again.
This time I knew what I saw.
Regret.
It did not make me feel better.
“You shouldn’t have followed me,” I said.
“I didn’t follow you.”
“No?”
“Tessa called Elena.”
I blinked.
“Elena?”
“My sister.”
Of course.
Tessa and Elena Russo had become friends after the wedding, largely because both had an alarming appetite for gossip and expensive pastries.
“Tessa called her?”
“She was worried.”
“For me?”
“Yes.”
A small, unexpected warmth touched my chest.
Not toward Dominic.
Toward Tessa.
I had stormed out in a red dress to make a point, and my best friend had quietly made sure someone knew where I was.
That was love.
Not ownership.
Not obligation.
Not debt.
“I’m fine,” I said.
Dominic gave me a look.
“I am.”
“You drove twenty miles while angry.”
“I had a driver.”
“Because you left without your coat, your handbag, or your car keys.”
I glanced down at the tiny evening purse.
It belonged to Tessa.
She had handed it to me in the car.
“You noticed.”
His laugh held no humor.
“Claire, I notice everything about you.”
The words landed badly.
I stared at him.
“Then that makes what you said worse.”
He went still.
“Yes,” he said.
No defense.
No excuse.
Just yes.
That disarmed me more effectively than an argument.
I looked away.
Beyond the ballroom windows, Chicago glittered under a clear spring sky. Traffic moved along the streets below. Somewhere in this city, people were eating late dinners, arguing over parking spaces, putting children to bed, calling their mothers, buying toothpaste.
Ordinary lives.
I had almost forgotten they existed.
“I’m going to Tessa’s,” I said.
Dominic nodded once.
“I’ll take you.”
“No.”
“Claire—”
“No.”
I met his eyes.
“I have spent eight months doing what everyone else believed was best for me. Tonight I would like to decide how I get home.”
He absorbed that in silence.
Then he stepped aside.
“All right.”
That was the first thing he had given me all night.
Not permission.
Space.
I walked away before I could confuse one with the other.
Tessa lived in a three-bedroom apartment overlooking Lincoln Park with two plants she was perpetually forgetting to water and a refrigerator containing eight varieties of sparkling water and no actual food.
She opened the door before I knocked.
“You’re alive.”
“I was at a cocktail party, not crossing Antarctica.”
“With Russo and Cross in the same room, those are emotionally similar climates.”
I pushed past her.
She closed the door and handed me a sweatshirt.
I stared at it.
“You want me to cover the dress?”
“I want you to stop shivering.”
I had not realized I was.
I pulled the sweatshirt on.
Tessa followed me into the kitchen.
“Tea?”
“Wine.”
“Tea.”
“Traitor.”
“You have made enough decisions while furious for one night.”
She filled the kettle.
I sat at her counter and watched her move around the kitchen.
My mother had loved Tessa.
We had been twelve when we met, and within a month my mother was packing an extra sandwich every morning because Tessa spent more time at our house than her own.
After Mom died, Tessa had quietly kept showing up.
She sat beside me at Noah’s school concerts.
Helped me fill out college financial aid forms.
Once drove through a snowstorm because I had called and said I could not remember whether I had turned off the oven.
She had never told me what to do with Dominic.
That was one reason I trusted her.
“You called Elena,” I said.
Tessa winced.
“I knew you’d be annoyed.”
“I’m not.”
She looked surprised.
“I’m grateful.”
“Oh.”
She set a mug in front of me.
Then another.
She sat.
“Do you want me to insult him?”
“No.”
“I have material prepared.”
“I know.”
“Some of it is excellent.”
“Tessa.”
“Fine.”
She wrapped both hands around her mug.
“What do you want?”
That question nearly broke me.
Not what are you going to do?
Not what should you do?
What do you want?
I stared at the steam rising from the tea.
“I don’t know.”
“That’s allowed.”
“I wanted him to care.”
Tessa said nothing.
May you like
“I told myself I didn’t,” I continued. “For months, I told myself I was being practical. Noah was safe. Dad’s debt was settled. I had a beautiful house and every possible comfort. Dominic never embarrassed me. Never demanded anything. Never even raised his voice.”
“But?”
