Chapter 2

When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. I had stitches on the top of my foot and gauze around the back of my head.

Dario sat beside me. As soon as I opened my eyes, the tension left his shoulders. "The doctor says it's a mild concussion. By the time I came back for you, the salon had called an ambulance."

I didn't tell him that the last person I'd seen before I lost consciousness wasn't a salon employee.

His phone kept ringing. A shipment at Bellini Transport needed his decision, but he ignored every call. Instead, he picked up an apple and slowly began peeling it, as though that could erase what had happened yesterday.

"Go take care of work," I said. "Have your lawyer send me the divorce papers."

The knife stopped moving. "I only said that because I was angry. Where would you go on your own?"

He'd known how afraid I was of being without a home after my mother died. Now he was using that fear to remind me I couldn't leave him.

"That's for me to figure out."

Dario rubbed his forehead. "Livia and I aren't involved the way you think. I promised her father I'd take care of her."

The door opened, and Livia walked in carrying a yellowing wig. "I spent ages picking this out. It's my apology."

Without waiting for me to agree, she pressed it onto my head. Leaning close, she laughed softly. "It's made of dog hair. Suits you perfectly."

I yanked it off and threw it back into her arms. Tears sprang to Livia's eyes. "I knew she wouldn't forgive me. I'll go."

Dario stopped her, took the wig, and pushed it back down on my head. "She bought it for you. Can't you just accept it?"

I smelled it. My neck began to itch, and my chest tightened. "Get it off me. Dario, I'm allergic to dog hair."

"Another excuse?"

He slapped me.

A nurse heard the commotion and hurried over from the doorway. I pushed Dario away, pressed the call button, and told her in a hoarse voice, "Please take the wig off. I'm having trouble breathing."

She removed it immediately and called a doctor. Dario stood to the side, his face slowly draining of color. At last he remembered: years ago, exposure to dog hair had sent me to the ER. He'd held my hand the entire night.

"Lena, I forgot."

"I remember you ordering for Livia. You never forget to leave onions off her plate."

I asked the nurse to call hospital security and have them document what had just happened. When Dario tried to touch my cheek, I pulled away.

"Get out."

After he left, I looked at the reply I'd sent on my phone. For the first time in eight years, the thought of leaving Dario didn't frighten me.