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Inspiration strikes. There’s every chance she’ll say no. But maybe, just maybe, she’ll say yes.

I set my whiskey glass down. “If this works, I’ll buy you both bottles of Macallan.”

“The 1926?” Gavriil asks.

“The last one sold for nearly two million at auction,” Rafe comments dryly.

“She’s worth it.” I stand. “She’s worth everything.”

And I’m not going to rest until she’s back in my arms where she belongs.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Alessandra

I’m sitting besidea window overlooking the towers of New York City. The view rivals that of my former Kingston office. I’m seated in a private room of Cloud, one of the hottest and highest-rated restaurants in Manhattan. Three walls are glass, offering unparalleled views of Central Park and the surrounding skyline. The back wall is ivory, catching the colors of the setting sun and making the room glow. The square table is draped in red linen with a candle glowing in the middle.

But the view is wasted on me as my finger hovers over my phone, specifically the send button. I’ve written and rewritten this text a dozen times. The one where I let Michail know that I have an ultrasound appointment in a few weeks. The first version just included the date and time. But then I was worried it wasn’t clear enough, so I rewrote it, asking him to let me know if he planned on attending. Then, worried it sounded too friendly, I revised it again.

Will he want to come? Or will I be left waiting? I don’t know which is worse. I don’t want him there, don’t want to see him, be near him, be reminded of everything we had and lost in such a short amount of time. But I also want him there, want him to see the baby, to experience the same joy I saw on his face when he heard the baby’s heartbeat for the first time.

I suck in a deep breath and hit Send. There. Done. My mother would tell me it’s the right thing to do. I hate it, hate the anticipation, hate my dueling emotions.

I set my phone down, pick up my glass of alcohol-free red wine and take a sip. I debated on whether to accept Gavriil’s invitation to join him for dinner. I have no doubt it’s related to Michail’s and my current predicament.

But I like Gavriil. Part of my reason for saying yes was rooted in morbid curiosity of finding out how Michail’s doing without actually communicating with him. And part of it is because I need a distraction.

I set the glass down a little too hard. Wine sloshes over the rim and lands on the tablecloth. I sigh and lean back as a headache starts to drum at my temples. It’s been nearly ten days since I left Sarah’s house. Since I saw my husband. Those ten days have been utterly miserable. I started my job at Regent. It’s a good job, and my boss has been nothing but accommodating. I’ve already had three successful client meetings. There’s so much potential there, a chance to hone my skills in financial planning as I work toward my dream of owning my own company.

Too often, thoughts of Michail intrude. It doesn’t help that the voicemails he’s been leaving make me crave his presence even more. The little details he’s been sharing, from a new book he’s started reading to a little boy he saw learning how to ride a bike in the park. These are the sorts of things I’d wanted from him. Pieces of the man I’d married.

But how can I open myself up again? Ironically, now that he’s trying to show me he’s willing to work on his trust, I’m not sure if I can give him mine again.

If I ever decide to get into another relationship, it will be with someone safe, someone who makes me happy and content but doesn’t drive me to these incredible highs or drag me down tothese vicious lows. The happiness isn’t worth it. Not worth this pain at all.

Although the thought of going out with another man, let alone holding hands or even kissing someone who’s not Michail, makes me sick to my stomach.

The thick velvet curtain that separates the private room from the hallway outside rustles behind me. I smile as I glance down at my phone.

“You’re late.”

“I know.”

I freeze. Then, slowly, I turn.

Michail stands framed in the doorway. My heart breaks all over again having him be so close yet so far away. He’s handsome, of course, in a black suit and a white shirt molded perfectly to every muscle. His hands are clasped behind his back. The top button is still in place.

“What are you doing here?”

He’s staring at me as if he hasn’t seen me in years instead of just a week.

“I got your text. About the ultrasound.”

I frown. “The appointment’s not for four weeks.”

“I know. I wanted to see you.”

I sag. “Gavriil set me up.”