Chapter 2

Dante slipped into bed just before dawn. I hadn’t slept. He waited for his hands to warm before wrapping himself around me; he’d never forgotten how easily I got cold.

“I’m skipping the docks today.” He kissed behind my ear. “You’ve got me all to yourself.”

I didn’t move. He reached for a leather folder on the nightstand and laid it in front of me. “Take a look.”

Behind the closing documents were photographs of a redbrick estate in the Berkshires, with old stables out back and maple woods beyond the living room windows.

Maple Creek. At sixteen, I’d cut its picture out of a restoration magazine and dreamed of having a studio there. I’d told Dante about the clipping years ago, never expecting him to remember the name, let alone find the house.

“One last signature, and it’s yours.” He pointed to the east wing. “Best light for your worktable. The nursery can go next door. Plenty of space for a swing set.”

He remembered the future I’d wanted. I could still picture my worktable under those windows, a child wandering in to ask whether I was finished yet. I’d told him about that, too.

“Once we have a baby, we’ll spend weekends there. You can work while I take him to the stables. If he doesn’t like horses, we’ll—” He stopped and touched my cheek. “Why are you crying?”

A tear had darkened the photograph. I closed the folder. “I watched something last night. A woman found out her husband had a whole other family. He’d been lying for years.”

His fingers paused before he turned me toward him. “He’s not worth her tears.”

“Should she leave?”

“Of course.” He kissed my wet eyelids. “But don’t borrow trouble, Ivy. I married you because I want to come home to you for the rest of my life.”

I studied his face and let it drop.

After breakfast, I said I was meeting friends for lunch in Back Bay. He picked up his keys. “I’ll drive. Afterward, we can look at that antique loom you liked.”

I tried to protest, but he was already opening the closet for me.

My friends had a table by the windows, separated from the patio by a low bookcase. Someone was wheeling a stroller through the sunshine outside.

“Called it.” Maeve lifted her sparkling water. “Dante, can Ivy have one lunch without a husband attached?”

“Next time. Promise.” He grinned and pulled out my chair, entirely at ease with the women who’d heard me say for years how happy he made me.

A waiter brought over several silver-lettered shopping bags. Inside were limited-edition leather travel bags, each a different color.

“You even remembered I’m going to Milan?” Maeve ran a hand over the handle, then looked at me. “Did you make him another list?”

I shook my head. “He remembers.”

Dante always made the people around me envious.

Someone asked about Maple Creek, but before he could answer, a baby cried on the patio. Celeste was there, wearing a cream cashmere wrap, helping a nanny adjust the hood of a double stroller. A waiter moved a planter for them. She glanced up and spotted us.

“Dante? Small world.” She wheeled closer, her gaze lingering on me.

I tightened my grip on my napkin. Celeste DeLuca, the daughter of the family’s old lawyer. At our wedding, she’d held my bouquet and teased me about looking after her difficult old friend.

“Celeste.” Dante stayed seated. “What are you doing here?”

“Just had my postpartum checkup. The doctor said a little walking would do me good.” She patted the baby girl’s back and passed her to the nanny. “Relax. I won’t keep you.”

Being polite, Maeve asked for another chair. Celeste settled in, surveyed the shopping bags, and smiled. “You like West, too?”

“You know the designer?” someone asked.

“Well, it’s technically mine now.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “Someone thought I’d be bored at home with two babies, so he bought me the company. The new workshop in Maine, too.”

“Their dad sounds wonderful.”

“He is. He’s not big on promises. He just takes care of things.”

She turned her phone beneath the table. Mine lit up.

[Thanks for helping pick the colors for my bags. He says you’ve always had great taste.]

I looked at the silver lettering again. That night, he’d said the trip to Maine had come up at the last minute. I’d been asleep; he hadn’t wanted to wake me. I’d even taken his scarf down to the garage.

Dante touched my glass before passing it over. “Have some water. Your hands are freezing.”

I looked at it, unable to reach for it.