Chapter 1 - THE PROMISE HE BROKE IN PROVENCE
“What do you mean, no?”
Ryan stared at me across the candlelit table.
Behind him, the hills of Provence were disappearing into violet darkness. Somewhere inside the farmhouse restaurant, a violinist played something slow and beautiful.
I had spent four months planning this dinner.
Four months imagining how it would feel to sit across from my husband with nowhere else we needed to be.
Now he was holding his phone.
And Mallory Keene was waiting on the other end.
“I mean exactly what I said,” I answered.
Ryan lowered his voice.
“Katherine, she's upset.”
“So am I.”
“This isn't a competition.”
“Then stop making me lose.”
He stared.
I could see the familiar frustration gathering behind his eyes.
The same frustration he showed when I questioned a business decision.
When I asked him to come home before midnight.
When I reminded him that marriage required more than signing a certificate.
“She's going through something personal,” he said.
“Then she should call someone who isn't on his honeymoon.”
Ryan leaned back.
“That's cruel.”
I almost laughed.
Cruel.
Apparently, asking my husband to remain at our anniversary-worthy dinner on the fourth evening of our marriage was cruel.
I placed my napkin beside my plate.
“Ryan, I need you to understand something.”
He looked at me impatiently.
“If you leave this table tonight, don't expect me to be sitting here when you come back.”
His expression hardened.
“Are you threatening me?”
“No.”
I met his eyes.
“I'm telling you what I'll do.”
He looked at his phone.
Mallory called again.
Ryan exhaled.
“Twenty minutes.”
Then he stood.
I watched him pick up his jacket.
“Ryan.”
He stopped.
I asked one final question.
“Did you invite her here because you wanted her company more than mine?”
His face changed.
For a moment, he looked almost ashamed.
Then he said, “You're making this bigger than it is.”
And walked away.
I sat alone for eleven minutes.
The waiter approached.
“Madame, would you like us to hold the next course?”
I looked at the empty chair.
Then smiled.
“No, thank you.”
I finished dinner.
Every course.
The roasted lamb.
The lavender dessert.
The tiny almond pastries.
I even ordered coffee.
Then I paid the bill with my own card.
At 10:17 p.m., I returned to the hotel.
At 10:42, I packed my suitcase.
At 11:06, I booked a flight to New York.
And at 11:31, Ryan finally called.
I watched his name appear.
Then turned off my phone.
Because something had become painfully clear.
May you like
My husband had invited another woman on our honeymoon.
But he was about to discover that I didn't need his permission to leave.
