Chapter 2

Celeste lived in an Upper East Side townhouse owned by the Falcone family.

I left the cab at the corner and crossed the snow-covered sidewalk alone. The doorman recognized me and admitted me without calling upstairs. Roman's voice carried through the partly open drawing room door.

"The cut is shallow, but keep it dry for a few days."

He sat beside Celeste on the sofa, holding her hand as he covered the small cut across her palm with gauze. The medical kit rested at his feet.

Celeste noticed my shadow beyond the door, and the corner of her mouth lifted.

"Evelyn is waiting at the hospital. Won't she worry when she realizes you left?"

"She thinks I am handling a problem at the hotel."

"You always come when I need help. Adrian would not like it."

Roman put away the bandage. "Adrian is out of town, and you should not be alone when you are hurt."

Five years ago, Adrian had chosen Celeste. Now she was his wife, yet one shallow cut could still bring my husband to her door.

Roman crossed to the dining table and opened a large white box. It held more than a dozen lemon pastries, identical to the two he had brought me.

"That bakery was not delivering today," Celeste said as she selected one. "You remembered they were my favorite."

"You have loved them since we were young."

He pushed the whole box toward her.

The pastries beside my hospital bed had come from this box. Roman had handed them to me and calmly let me believe he had crossed the city for me.

Celeste kept glancing toward the door as if she expected me to storm inside. I turned away before she could have the confrontation she wanted.

Dizziness struck as I descended the steps. I caught the iron railing, and the needle mark on my hand split open against the metal. Blood seeped through the gauze as I closed my coat and hailed another cab.

Roman returned soon after I reached the hospital.

He took one look at the empty impression on the bed and came straight toward me. "Where did you go? The nurse said you were gone for almost two hours."

"I needed some air."

"It is snowing, and your lungs have not recovered."

He checked my face and touched my forehead. I kept my injured hand under the blanket.

"You have been acting differently since the lake," he said. "You usually argue when Celeste calls. Today, you barely looked at me. What is wrong?"

My anger had always reassured him. It proved that I still cared where he went and how long he stayed.

"I am tired."

"Are you still thinking about the accident?"

"The doctor said I need rest."

Roman studied me, searching for the familiar resentment. When he reached for my hand, he finally saw the stained gauze.

"When did this happen?"

"The needle mark opened."

He called the nurse and watched as she cleaned it. After she left, he kept my hand in his.

"We can cancel tomorrow."

"You already arranged the yacht."

His expression softened. "I will stay beside you. Nothing will happen this time."

The doctor discharged me the next afternoon. Roman came to collect me himself, while his assistant took our luggage to the marina.

The passenger seat had been pushed much farther back than usual. A cashmere scarf embroidered with Celeste's initials lay inside the door pocket.

Roman followed my gaze and placed it in the glove compartment.

"Her driver was unavailable yesterday, so I took her home. She was still shaken after the lake."

"She seemed to be recovering."

His hand paused. "Did you see her?"

"I saw her at the charity dinner."

Roman watched me before starting the car. He did not ask again. Instead, he explained that the yacht's bedroom had fresh linens and that a doctor would remain nearby.

His phone rang as we drove toward the private marina in Brooklyn. His expression tightened when he saw the caller's name. After a brief conversation, he pulled to the curb.

"There is a problem within the Falcone family. Celeste cannot reach Adrian, and I need to check on her."

"Today is our anniversary."

"I know." Roman turned toward me. "Victor will take you to the marina. I will join you within an hour."

He sounded apologetic, but he was already calling Victor.

"Adrian should handle his wife's problems."

"He cannot be reached, and our families share several businesses. I cannot ignore this."

Roman kissed my forehead, promised to arrive before the yacht left, and transferred me to the car following us. Then he turned back toward Manhattan.

I boarded the yacht at six.

Dinner waited beneath the lights of the enclosed deck. Roman had ordered white roses and a bottle of champagne from the year we married. Neither place setting was touched.

At seven thirty, Celeste sent me a photograph. Roman sat beside her fireplace, studying papers Adrian had left behind. Celeste wore his coat and held the last lemon pastry.

Two messages followed.

Adrian chose me on the day you graduated.

Five years later, Roman still leaves you whenever I call.

I called Roman three times, but he did not answer. At ten, the captain approached and asked whether we should continue waiting.

I silenced my phone and looked at the empty chair across from me.

"Take us out."

"Mr. Vescari has not arrived."

"I am the only guest tonight."

As the yacht pulled away, the lights of Manhattan receded behind me. I opened the champagne Roman had chosen for our anniversary and poured the first glass for myself.