LOGINRosalie Russo was nineteen when one forbidden night with Aiden King, a Navy SEAL and her brother's best friend, ended in heartbreak. After dismissing her as a mistake and coldly pushing her away, Aiden shattered everything she thought they had. Two weeks later, Rosalie discovered she was pregnant and learned that Aiden had been engaged all along. Devastated, she vanished without a trace. Seven years later, Aiden found her struggling as a single mother. He never married his fiancée, and he had spent years searching for Rosalie. Now that he knew Lucy was his daughter, he was determined to bring his family back together. But Rosalie refused to surrender to the man who destroyed her. As a bitter custody battle unfolded and old desires reignited, they were forced to confront the truth: Aiden pushed her away to protect her from his demons, and Rosalie ran instead of fighting for them. Could two broken souls build something beautiful from the ruins of their past?
View MoreI sat at my desk and looked out the window. "He's Elena's cousin," I said. "A distant one." "But her cousin." "Yes." Richard's tone was measured. "There's no evidence of any connection to what she did. The investigation was thorough, and his name doesn't appear anywhere in the records." I took a moment to absorb the information. The cold feeling I had experienced when Rosie mentioned the surname hadn't been caused by a mistake. There was a real connection, a blood connection, between Marcus Vasquez and the woman who had planted evidence in Rosie's car, given false testimony before a military board, and tried to destroy everything we had built. That connection was real. As Richard had said, the connection was also, very likely, meaningless. And I had been thinking about it for three days. I thought about the twelve-week ultrasound. About those eighteen hours I had spent alone doing the calculations before going to her. About the precise cost of all of it, which had end
Aiden's POV She told me at the kitchen table, after the children were asleep. I already knew she was holding something back. I had sensed it when she came home from Mara's: that particular impression, that contained attention, the look she got when something happened and she didn't yet know how to handle it. She had told me about the two hundred and fourteen guests, the possible venues, the organizational system with the binder and tabs, and I had listened to all of it and waited. Then she mentioned a name on the guest list she wanted to talk to me about. She told me the name. Marcus Vasquez. An extended family member on her father's side. Not particularly close. Invited out of obligation. She told me she didn't yet know whether what she was feeling was information or simply instinct. After she went to check on the children, I took out my phone. I searched the name. It took me thirty seconds to find a public professional profile. I looked at the photograph. I didn't recogni
I had been here before. Not this exact situation, but something particular about it. Reading something, feeling a certain unease, and then having to determine whether that unease was information or the reflection of an old instinct that was still on alert. Wondering whether the alarm triggered by certain words in certain contexts was accurate information about the present situation or a remnant of old situations that had already been resolved. I was better at telling the difference than I used to be. Over the years, I had learned that not everything cold was a threat. Sometimes it was simply the body remembering an old threat that was no longer there. I still wasn't sure what this was. Marcus Vasquez. Mara's cousin on her father's side. East Coast. Not particularly close. Invited out of family obligation and because her mother had expectations about the extended family guest list. The name Vasquez was common enough. Mara's connection to him was through research circles, a com
Rosalie's POV Mara and I had our first real bridesmaids' meeting on a Tuesday evening at Mara's apartment. She already had an entire system in place, which wasn't surprising. Mara approached most things the way she approached research: with organized documents and a clear process. When I arrived, a binder was sitting on the table, with printed tabs and a color-coding system. She made tea for me while I looked through it. "You made tabs," I said. "The guest list alone has two hundred and fourteen names," she said from the kitchen. "We need tabs." I looked through the guest list. Two hundred and fourteen names was significant. Our wedding had had twenty-three people in a garden. This would be completely different, something I had sensed when Jeffery mentioned Mara's large family, but I hadn't fully understood it until I had the binder in my hands, with its different-colored tabs. Mara came back with the tea and sat across from me. We went through everything. Three venue opt






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