LOGINAnastasia’s POV:It rained the morning of the groundbreaking.Not heavily. The particular light rain that could not decide if it was mist or intention and settled for being both, the kind that made everything smell like wet concrete and possibility and that I had always secretly liked even when it was inconvenient.Lucas looked at the sky when we came out of the house and said nothing which was the right response.Noah looked at the sky and said it is raining and I said yes and he said will there be mud and I said probably and he said good.Zoe had an umbrella. She had found it in the hallway cupboard and claimed it before anyone said anything and she was holding it with the focused intention of someone who had made a decision about this day and the rain was not part of the problem.We drove to the east side of Harlow City.I had been to the site six times in the past three months, walking the ground with Caroline Marsh and the contractors and Rosa, looking at what the space was and b
Anastasia’s POV:Isla called me on a Tuesday which was becoming a pattern with the people in my life, significant things happened on Tuesdays, and she said she was having a show and she wanted me to come and she said it the way Isla said everything, directly, without softening it with context or preamble.“When?” I said.“Saturday,” she said. “The gallery on the west side. The one I told Simone about.”“The one that expressed interest in your work,” I said.“They did more than express interest,” she said. “It is a full show. Eighteen pieces. They gave me the main room.”I sat up straighter.“Isla,” I said. “That’s big.”“I know,” she said, and her voice did something I had not heard from her before, a brief unguarded moment before she covered it again with the easy confidence she wore for everything. “Will you come?”“Obviously,” I said. “All of us.”“You don’t have to bring all of us,” she said.“Simone will want to come,” I said. “She has been talking about your work to everyone who
Anastasia’s POV:It started with a calendar.Not metaphorically. An actual calendar on the kitchen wall that Lucas had put up in January because he said we needed a system and I had agreed because we did need a system and the system had worked for two months and then on a Thursday in April, it stopped working because we had both written different things in the same square.Lucas had written Hong Kong and I had written community center groundbreaking and they were on the same day and neither of us had said anything to the other before writing them and now it was Wednesday night and we were both looking at the calendar with the particular stillness of two people who had been here before.Not here exactly.But adjacent to here.“I told you about Hong Kong three weeks ago,” he said.“You mentioned Hong Kong three weeks ago,” I said. “There’s a difference between mentioning and putting it in the calendar.”“I assumed you would put it in the calendar,” he said.“Why would I put your trip in
Anastasia’s POV:Lucas found it on a Saturday afternoon in March while he was doing the thing he did in the garden now, which was to go out there with no plan and come back two hours later with dirt on his hands and a specific opinion about something that needed doing that he had apparently been thinking about the entire time.I was in the studio when he came back in.He appeared in the doorway and I looked up and he had the dirt on his hands and the expression of someone who had found something they were not expecting to find.“Come and look at something,” he said.“I’m working,” I said.“It will only take two minutes,” he said.“You always say two minutes,” I said.“I mean it this time,” he said.I put my pencil down.The garden in March was doing the thing gardens did at the end of winter, half dead and half beginning, and I followed Lucas to the far end near the old stone wall and he crouched down beside a section of ground and pointed.I looked.Underneath the wall, in a gap betw
Anastasia’s POV:Three years after I walked out of the penthouse, I sat in my studio on a Tuesday morning and drew.Not for a client. Not for a brief. Just for myself, the way I had been doing in coffee shops for two years before any of this started, the way I had always done when the need to make something got loud enough that ignoring it felt like a kind of damage.The house was quiet.Lucas had taken the children to school and I had an hour before my first meeting and I was using it the way I used every piece of time that belonged entirely to me, deliberately.The drawing was the community center.The one I had been sketching in pieces for three years, adding to, revising, throwing away sections and starting again. It had been a student project once, a B plus that I had argued into an A minus, and it had been a dream, I had buried when I became Lucas Salvatore’s wife, and it had been something I kept returning to in the margins of client briefs and the backs of meeting notes and no
Anastasia’s POV: Simone was the most beautiful person in the room. She would have said that was an obvious thing to say about a bride but it was true in a way that went beyond the dress, which was ivory and simple and exactly right, and beyond the way Diane had done her hair, which was pinned loosely with a few pieces falling the way they always fell because Simone’s hair did what it wanted and today even her hair had decided to cooperate. It was something in her face. She looked like herself. The fullest version of herself. The version that existed when she had stopped performing not caring and just let the thing she actually felt take up all the space it needed. I stood beside her at the entrance to the barn and she looked at me and I looked at her and neither of us said anything for a moment because there was nothing to say that the moment was not already saying. Then she said “is my lipstick okay” and I said yes and she said “check properly” and I checked properly and said ye
Anastasia’s POV:“You have paint on your face.”I looked up from the mood board spread across my desk and found Celeste Dupont standing in my office doorway in a cream blazer and reading glasses pushed up on her head, looking at me the way she looked at everything, like she had already figured it o
Anastasia’s POV:“If you tell her about this meeting I will make sure you never work in this city again. Do you understand me?”I stood completely still in the entrance of my own home with my keys still in my hand and my heart doing something complicated inside my chest.That was my husband’s voice
Anastasia’s POV:Simone called at exactly eight forty three the next morning while I was standing in my kitchen in my pajamas staring at the coffee machine like it had personally offended me.“Tell me everything,” she said before I finished saying hello. “And I mean everything. Dean told me Lucas c
Anastasia’s POV:I wore the burgundy dress.Simone had picked it out three weeks ago during one of our Saturday shopping trips that were less about buying things and more about reclaiming the version of me that used to have opinions about what she put on her body. It was fitted without being aggres







