Page 76

I notice the slight tension in her shoulders and the way her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

Something is wrong.

Luke is across from us, talking animatedly about some new business deal he just closed with his best friend. I stopped listening five minutes ago. My attention is entirely on the woman next to me.

I lean in close, my lips brushing her ear. “Are you okay, baby?”

She turns her head and gives me a bright smile that doesn’t fool me for a second. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Her eyes flick away from mine almost immediately.

I glance across the table. Luke is staring at us. When our eyes meet, he smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I have to say, Uncle,” he says, raising his glass slightly, “I never pictured you as the marrying type.”

I shrug, resting my hand on Rosie’s thigh under the table. “When you find the one, you don’t let her go.”

Luke’s eyebrows shoot up. “So Rosie is the one?”

I look at my wife for a moment, then back at him. “I married her, didn’t I?”

Luke takes a long gulp of his wine and nods. “Well… I hope I find the one too someday.”

I tilt my head. “So you’re really going through with the divorce from Sharon?”

“It’s already been filed,” he says, a little too quickly.

I nod once. “Hopefully next time will be the charm.”

Truth is, I never liked Sharon. Not from the first time I met her. She had that hungry, calculated look in her eyes that reminded me too much of people I’ve had to deal with in my line of work. But Luke seemed head over heels, and I’m not in the business of interfering in other people’s relationships. So I kept my mouth shut.

Rosie tries to join the conversation, offering a few polite comments and smiles, but I can tell her heart isn’t in it. She’s tense. Distracted. Every few minutes her fingers drift back to tuck that same strand of hair behind her ear.

There’s something she’s not telling me. I can’t wait for this dinner to be over so I can get her alone and find out exactly what it is. I don’t like it when my wife is uneasy.

After dinner, Luke and I moved to the study for a drink. Rosie excused herself, saying she needed to put Anya to bed.

I watched her go. She doesn’t like Luke. That much is obvious. Throughout dinner she gave him nothing but short, one-word answers whenever he tried to engage her. Polite, but cold. My wife is usually warm with people. With Luke, she was ice.

The moment Luke finishes his drink and leaves, I head upstairs.

I find Rosie in Anya’s bedroom. She’s sitting on the edge of the bed, gently rubbing our daughter’s head as Anya’s eyes drift shut. The nightlight casts a soft glow over them both.

I step inside quietly. Rosie glances up and whispers, “She’s almost asleep.”

I stop a few feet closer and just watch them, my girls. My chest tightens with something fierce and protective.

“She looks so peaceful,” Rosie murmurs.

I couldn’t agree more.

I move closer. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she says quickly, still stroking Anya’s hair.

I study her face. “You sure? Because you seemed quite uncomfortable during dinner.”

She forces a smile. “Oh, really? I’m fine.”