Chapter 4

Alex POV: He Didn’t Find A Note

Jodie’s laughter bubbles up beside me as we step out of the Bentley, her arm looped through mine like she’s already claimed the space Dana used to fill. My head feels like it’s splitting open, anger pounding behind my eyes in time with my pulse. I nod mechanically at whatever joke she’s telling about the bachelor party we just left.

“You should’ve seen Kelly’s face when the stripper asked if he wanted the ‘premium package’!” Jodie giggles, tossing her hair. “He turned redder than the champagne. Poor guy—still thinks he’s getting out of marriage alive. Little does he know, it’s just a slower form of surrender.”

I force a chuckle, the sound hollow. My gaze turns toward the building entrance just in time to see Dana come out, her small duffel bag slung over her shoulder. It is the same faded gray one she arrived with two years ago. And it looks too light to contain all the dresses, shoes, and jewelry I bought her. The realization stabs at my ego with a shock. She’s walking away with nothing, like none of it mattered. Like I didn’t matter.

I look away quickly, guiding Jodie toward the private elevator. Of course, she has someone new lined up. Some guy richer than me—impossible, but that’s what I tell myself. She’ll be fine. She always lands on her feet.

Upstairs, Maria is in the living room, moping, her eyes red from crying.

“Maria?” I say. “Why the long face?”

She shoots Jodie a look that could curdle milk. Her gaze is equal parts scared, wary and angry. Then she turns to me.

“Mr. Alex, can I have a quick word? Alone?”

I nod toward the hallway. “Jodie, go wait for me in the bedroom. I’ll be right there.”

Jodie flashes her perfect smile, sways her hips as she disappears down the corridor. Maria purses her lips unhappily.

As soon as we’re alone, Maria says, “Miss Dana came home crying, sir. Weeping like her heart was broken. She packed her things and said she’s not coming back. I tried to talk to her, begged her to stay, but she wouldn’t listen.”

I wave it off. “It’s okay, Maria. Dana’s fine.”

“But she’s your wife,” Maria whispers, eyes wide with disbelief and hurt. “How can you let her leave like that? And who is that woman in the bedroom?”

The hot urge to snap at her rises inside me, but I swallow it. Maria has loved Dana from the first day, treated her like a daughter, sometimes like a sister, always with a mother’s fierce protectiveness. Two years of that bond don’t vanish overnight.

“I know how you feel about her,” I say calmly. “But from now on, keep it cordial. I don’t want to hear another word about Dana. The woman in the bedroom? That’s my new bride. Dana and I are over. Officially.”

Maria gasps, hand flying to her mouth. I turn away before the tears can start, walking toward the bedroom.

“Dinner ready?” I ask over my shoulder.

She says nothing.

“Maria?”

“Yes, sir,” she murmurs. “It’s ready.”

I pause at the doorway. “Relax. Dana will be fine. She’s a strong woman.”

The bedroom is dimly lit, city lights spilling through the massive windows onto the king-size bed. Jodie stands by the nightstand, fingering the monogrammed stationery. She startles when I step in.

“Sorry,” I say. “Didn’t mean to creep up on you.”

She laughs softly and comes into my arms. We kiss, a light, tentative trial, our second. Later, we eat dinner at the long glass table. The food is perfect, as always, but it tastes like cardboard. The conversation is easy, but empty. It’s not like being with Dana. Not yet. But we’ll get there. Maybe even marry soon. A real wedding this time, not some contract.

In the morning, Jodie kisses me goodbye and heads to work, some small accounting firm downtown, where she crunches numbers for mid-size companies. Nothing like the empire I run. She waves from the elevator, and I watch her go, telling myself this is progress.

I wander into the living room to find Maria is there, wiping down surfaces that don’t seem to need it.

“Morning,” I say.

She looks up, her eyes hopeful and desperate. “Are you going to change your mind now, Mr. Alex? I wish to God you would.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Ma’am Dana, yes,” she beams.

I sigh, rubbing the bridge of my nose. “What is it this time? Why would I change my mind?”

Maria glances toward the bedroom, confused. “I thought . . . I thought you would have read the note. At least understand how much Miss Dana loves you.”

I shake my head. “You’re hurting because she left. I get it. But you’re imagining things.”

She follows me as I walk away. “But sir, didn’t you see it? She left it on your pillow.”

My patience frays. “Breakfast, Maria. Now.”

“It’s ready,” she says quietly, and retreats.

I eat alone in the dining room, the silence pressing in on me. What note is Maria going on about anyway? Did Dana leave a note? Maria must be mistaken, grasping at straws. But the suggestion lingers on my mind, a nagging possibility.

After breakfast, I find myself drifting back to the bedroom. The bed is made, the sheets crisp. There was no note on the pillow last night, nor on the nightstand. I search the drawers and when I find nothing, I conclude Maria is making things up.

Or . . . I should ask Jodie if she found any note. If she didn’t, Maria better put a stop to her foolery.