Page 88 of The Marriage Clause

Everett drags a hand over his jaw.

"I'm going to shower," he says.

Like that explains the tension.

Like that explains anything.

He gets halfway to the bathroom, then stops, not looking back.

"And Aria?"

"Yes?"

His shoulders tighten under the white shirt.

"If you keep pulling things like that out of the bag while I'm standing here, I'm going to stop being polite."

Then he keeps walking, disappears into the bathroom, and shuts the door behind him.

I stand there in the middle of the honeymoon suite, surrounded by lace, holding my husband's T-shirt like it might save me from myself.

The shower turns on a second later.

I look down at the shirt.

Then at the lingerie strewn across the bed.

Then toward the closed bathroom door.

My face burns all over again.

This trip is either going to heal something in me or ruin me permanently.

Possibly both.

Chapter Fifteen

ARIA

Cannes is prettier than the pictures.

That's my first coherent thought as I step out of the café with a paper cup of coffee in one hand and a still-warm chocolate pastry in the other. The sea is bright enough to hurt your eyes, the buildings all cream and blush and weathered gold, and every narrow street looks like it was designed by someone trying to make the rest of the world feel ugly by comparison.

I should resent it.

This place has lived in my head for years. In stories my father told over bakery cookies and coffee. In my mother's paintings. In every version of my life that used to exist before reality got hold of it and wrung it dry.

Instead, I feel strangely calm.

Light.

Like stepping outside after hours in a windowless room.

When I left the villa this morning, Everett was already in the office.

The room sits just off the main living area behind a set of tall French double doors with glass panes all the way down. From the terrace, from the kitchen, from the sweeping staircase—everywhere in the villa, really—you can see straight into it. He was already in there when I came downstairs, sleeves rolled, head bent over his laptop, phone at his ear, the doors shut like he was sealing himself inside a display case.

Visible.