Chapter 1

I went to my parents' house with flowers on the anniversary of their deaths.

My husband was there, kissing his new assistant beneath a chandelier my mother had chosen.

When I tried to go inside, a security guard blocked the steps.

“Private event. Mr. Rook's celebrating Miss Bell's first exhibition.”

It was my house.

I called Miles. Through the open French doors, I watched him glance at his phone and turn away from the woman in his arms.

“Working late, Nora. Can it wait?”

“Turn around.”

He saw me. For one second, he looked frightened. Then he pushed Tessa away and came down the steps, already angry.

“Her first real show is important. Don't embarrass me in front of my staff.”

I slapped him.

The guard stepped back.

Miles stared at me as though I had broken a rule neither of us remembered agreeing to.

“Are you out of your mind?”

I walked past him.

After the accident, I'd moved into Boston because I couldn't bear the quiet of the Fairchild estate. I kept the caretaker on and paid to preserve the house. Once a year, I came back with flowers.

In the months since my last visit, someone had painted slogans over the antique paneling. My parents' suite had become a candy-colored room full of Tessa's self-portraits.

She stood in the center of the drawing room holding champagne.

“I didn't invite you.”

Miles grabbed my arm.

“Sorry, everyone. She's been following me. She has some problems.”

A few guests laughed. Somebody called me a stalker.

I pulled free.

“I'm your wife.”

He lowered his voice. “You know my brand. Independent. Unattached. You understood that.”

I understood that my money had become embarrassing now that he could pretend it was his.

Outside, Tessa was directing two men carrying crates of fireworks toward the terrace.

“Miles designed the colors himself,” she told the crowd. “An opening-night surprise.”

I grabbed a pitcher from the drinks table and doused the first lit fuse.

“This house is nearly two hundred years old. Get those off my property.”