Chapter 2

“Don’t forget to split the groceries,” Vivienne said, finishing her last bite of foie gras.

Dante tapped his phone. A payment request appeared on mine.

Three hundred and forty dollars and fifty cents.

“For what?”

“The caviar, foie gras, and cherries were two hundred and sixty. The steaks were four hundred and twenty. Potatoes were a dollar.” Vivienne smiled. “Half of six hundred and eighty-one. Perfectly fair.”

“I didn’t eat any of that.”

Dante set his fork down.

“Do you have to nickel-and-dime everything? Vivienne is our guest.”

“You just sent me an itemized bill.”

“Because we’re working on equality.” His voice tightened. “Don’t turn every step forward into a fight.”

Vivienne reached for her phone.

“It’s fine. Dinner’s on me. I don’t want to be the reason you argue.”

She sent Dante the money. He sent it straight back.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Viv. You’re helping us. I’m not charging you for dinner.”

I stared at him.

He could be generous. He still knew how. Apparently, it only became unhealthy when the person receiving it was his wife.

Vivienne closed her notebook.

“Dante cooked, Elena. You can wash up.”

I looked at the gauze around my hands. Gravel had torn both palms when I fell. Blood had seeped through one bandage.

Dante noticed the blood. He took my hand carefully.

“This needs changing.”

He brought the first-aid kit from the kitchen and replaced the wet gauze. His touch was gentle. When I flinched, he stopped.

Vivienne watched him.

“You can care for an injury without taking over her responsibilities. Otherwise, she learns that discomfort cancels every agreement.”

He finished taping the bandage.

“There are gloves under the sink,” he said. “I’ve taken care of your hands. You can still do your part.”

“I can barely hold a glass.”

“Elena, I cooked. We agreed to share the work.”

He was still holding my hand when he said it.

I took it back.

I left the dishes where they were and went upstairs.

The next morning, I found him in his study. His signet ring rested against a stack of business papers. Through the open door, I could see his men waiting in the hall.

I had the hospital instructions and the follow-up estimate with me. Before I could travel, our baby needed those appointments.

I placed both documents on his desk.

“Dante, we need to talk about the baby.”

He leaned back before I could finish.

“Viv said you’d do this. The card gets canceled, and suddenly the baby becomes leverage.”

Vivienne appeared in the doorway with a cup of coffee.

“When someone loses financial control, they reach for the one thing they believe you can’t walk away from.”

“I’m asking you to listen.”

“You’re not the only woman who could give him a child, Elena.”

Dante’s jaw tightened.

“Viv.”

“What? She needs to understand that pregnancy doesn’t exempt her from being a partner.”

Dante moved the coffee away from the papers but left Vivienne standing beside him.

I slid the hospital instructions closer.

“The doctor wants these appointments kept. You know what it took to get this far.”

We had tried for years. Tests, appointments, injections I gave myself in the bathroom before work. Sometimes I would hold the needle over my skin until my hand started shaking, and he would kneel beside me and help.

When the test finally turned positive, he cried into my shoulder. He kept the first ultrasound in his wallet, behind a photograph of us.

His eyes flickered toward that wallet now.

Vivienne stepped closer.

“Your fertility problems weren’t his fault. You can’t keep making him pay emotionally for your medical history.”

“I never said they were.”

“Then you shouldn’t object to sharing the cost.”

She picked up his phone. He let her.

A second request arrived on mine: fertility medication, specialist visits, scans, prenatal appointments. Half of every bill he had once paid without hesitation.

Even our baby’s first heartbeat had become an expense he wanted reimbursed.