Blue’s toes curled as the man’s breath shot out along her thigh and the absence as he drew away forced a shiver. With furrowed brows, her eyes met his, met with a twisted smile, narrowed eyes and fingers flexing on her knees. “What are you doing?” “What do you want me to do?” the murmur alone kindled her longing to the point she was sure she could beg, watching restlessly, goosebumps rising from the cold.

It was barely four in the evening. The floorboards were weathered and the table somewhat tacky. Relying on the light coming through western-facing windows, Blue couldn’t comment on the ceiling lamps—only two of which were functional. Sun slipping behind the dense hedging that was the central business district, she worried that she was keeping the café open; and as such, lack of natural lighting was not usually an issue. She didn’t have it in her to critique Anya’s timing. After all, she had asked the impossible. Dinner preparations usually began promptly at three-thirty, serving at five. She made a pretty safe bet that there was plenty of laundry to keep her occupied in the meantime. If not, there was certainly no shortage of windows to clean. With each hour, it seemed more and more uncertain she’d see the woman she had come to miss. Regardless, she couldn’t help but hope. A fool’s errand. With each hour it seemed more and more uncertain. Perhaps she should h

Perched on the windowsill, Blue wasn’t nearly as consumed by thoughts of marriage and murder as she had been the first time. And unlike the last, she was on speaking terms with her husband. It had been half a week without any kind of verbal altercation—if Blue’s silent evasion was to be counted. Thankfully, Vincent hadn’t pressed the issue in much the same way Blue had skirted around Vincent’s being in her father’s office. She had been thankful to be kept awake by him rather than another argument; something she wasn’t all too eager to risk. Instead, she was rather focused on the sound of the rain pelting against the glass and the smell of bacon that aroused both hunger and nausea so conflicting. She knew too well if she looked to the man who stood over the stove with little more in the way of clothes than a pair of joggers a size or two too small, she’d be bent over the counter if she had her way. Her stomach couldn’t fare an extra half-hour without a decent

The irony wasn’t lost on Blue that the only restaurant accepting a reservation for six happened to be one so awkwardly nestled between the division of upper-and-lower-class Manhattan. At least the only one accepting reservations for such a large table only three hours earlier on a Friday night. Which also happened to be the very same she had met her now-husband for their first official date.Almost two months later, she felt extremely overdressed—so as not to avoid confrontation from her mother. Her stockings stuck to her legs from the rain, the skirt of her dress whose empire waist already wasn’t doing her any favors had creased in her Uber and her hair had broken from its bun. The one she had redone four or five times out of pure terror.Of what?How many glasses of wine she could turn down before she caved? How much groping she could ignore from her beloved fiancé? Or how much terror her mother could unleash in a one-hour win

“Blue… Off already?” releasing his grip on the woman, she took a cursory few steps back, almost tripping on the heels of her shoes. With dark hair and deep-set eyes, it seemed the only difference between Christopher and his son was the markings where time and age had taken its toll. They wore the same sneer as though it had been burned into their face and squared their shoulders in much the same way. As she returned the man’s firm smile and crossed her arms to brace the cold, Blue fought against the creeping notion that her destiny was to follow in Sandra’s footsteps as the blonde trophy wife. The only difference between them, of course, would be the fact Blue’s firstborn wouldn’t have Richard’s hair or eyes—they would be Vincent’s. “I was hoping we’d get the chance to talk,”“Yeah, I have to get home,” Meeting the man’s firm gaze and studying the eyes that bore such resemblance w