"But she's the only woman he ever had a child with. The only one who—" I stopped, the truth crystallizing as I spoke it. "The only one who had the power to hurt him. To leave a mark."
Understanding dawned in Zoe's eyes. "And you're afraid you'll be the second."
I nodded, unable to articulate the fear that had been growing alongside my deepening feelings for Lucas.
The knowledge that loving someone this completely meant giving them unprecedented power to destroy you.
"You're going to tell him," Zoe said. Not a question.
"Before you meet her."
"I will." I checked my watch—still three hours before the reservation. Enough time to call Lucas, to explain, to ask if he had any insights into the woman who'd once been his wife.
"After I shower."
Zoe stood, gathering her purse. "Good. Because whatever game Catherine Reid is playing, you need to go in with your cards face up." She pressed a quick kiss to my cheek.
"Call me tomorrow with all the gory details."
After she left, I stepped into the shower, letting hot water sluice over me as I tried to organize my thoughts.
What did Catherine want?
The invitation had come a week after Lucas and I had been photographed having dinner at a small bistro in North Beach—nothing overtly romantic, but the body language unmistakable to anyone paying attention.
Had word gotten back to Miles? To Catherine? Was this a warning, a threat, an interrogation?
By the time I emerged, hair wrapped in a towel, my anxiety had crystallized into determination.
I would call Lucas.
Would tell him about the dinner. Would face whatever came next as we'd promised each other, together.
My phone rang before I could reach for it. Lucas's name was lighting up the screen as if my thoughts had summoned him.
"I was just about to call you," I answered, smiling despite my nerves.
"Were you?" His voice, deep and familiar now, sent warmth spiraling through me. "Something about your plans changing tonight?"
My stomach dropped.
"How did you?—"
"Zoe texted me." The edge in his tone was subtle but unmistakable.
"Something about making sure you weren't walking into an ambush unprepared."
I silently thanked and cursed my best friend in the same breath.
"I was going to tell you."
"Before or after the dinner?" The question was calm, measured, revealing nothing of what he must be feeling.
"Before. Just now, actually." I sank onto the edge of my bed, wet hair dripping onto my shoulders.
"I'm sorry I didn't mention it yesterday when the invitation arrived. I'm still figuring out how to navigate all this."
A pause, then a soft exhale. "Tell me about the invitation."
