Chapter 3

Damian glanced at it and dismissed it. "She's nineteen. Girls that age make jokes like this all the time. Half the young women in the family say stuff like that. It doesn't mean anything. When did you get so sensitive?"

I didn't say anything.

He sighed, patience wearing thin. "Okay, okay. I know I've been making you unhappy lately. But I'm not interested in Nina. Not like that."

He found a way around my IV line and pulled me against him the same way he used to, chin resting against the top of my head.

His voice dropped low. "You're the one I love. Stop overthinking it."

I hesitated. Then I put my arms around him.

His jacket smelled like perfume, not mine, not his, something young and sweet, the kind of scent that belonged on a teenager.

A flicker crossed his face. Relief.

"Alright," he said, patting my back. "What do you want to eat? You're in recovery, you need to eat properly."

I named something. He stood up to go, and right before he walked out his phone rang.

He lowered his voice to take it, said "I'll be there soon, don't be scared," in the same voice he used to use with me, when things were different.

On the day I was discharged, I ran into Nina in the corridor. She was wandering in her hospital gown. I tried to walk past her without acknowledging her.

She grabbed my hand.

"Oh my god, are you Quinn? I always see your name on his phone! You're even his wallpaper!"

She stared at me like she'd spotted someone famous, holding on and not letting go. "Who are you to him? Why is he keeping your picture like that?"

I looked at her calmly. "Damian never told you who I am?"

She shook her head.

I smiled.

"Then I'll tell you."

"I'm his wife."

Nina's face went white. She let go of my hand and stumbled backward.

"No, that can't be right. He's supposed to marry me. He said so. Who are you, showing up like this?"

"I've been married to him for eleven years," I said, without raising my voice.

Nina dropped to the floor crying, hyperventilating. I stood there feeling mostly confused.

The noise drew a crowd, people waiting to pay their bills, strangers who didn't know anything about any of it, who started pointing fingers at me.

"Look at her. A grown woman going after a girl like that?"

"That poor thing is sobbing and she just stands there?"

I looked at them.

"Did anyone here see me say a single word to her? Did anyone see me touch her?"

They glanced at each other.

Then came the sound of dress shoes on marble, the rhythm I knew from every family meeting where Damian walked in.

He came through the crowd at a near-run, face tight with fury, jacket flaring at the hem, the holster at his hip half-visible beneath it.

He dropped to one knee beside Nina, voice soft: "Easy. Breathe. In, out. You're okay, I'm here."

"You finally came..." She let out a sob.

He got her settled in a wheelchair, then turned and looked at me. He crossed the distance.

Crack.

The slap knocked everything out of my head for a moment. My lip split and I tasted blood.

That was the first time Damian had ever hit me.

For another woman. For something I never did.