Chapter 5 - The Ring on the Nightstand
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Bright October sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the master suite woke me at seven-thirty the next morning.
For the first time in six months, I had slept nine uninterrupted hours without waking up at two in the morning to check whether Adrian’s side of the bed was still empty. I stretched beneath the warm down comforter, sat up against the pillows, and reached over to the mahogany nightstand to switch on my cell phone.
The screen took nearly thirty seconds to finish vibrating as a flood of delayed notifications poured through the cellular network.
98 Missed Calls.
43 Unread Text Messages.
Ninety-one of the missed calls were from Adrian, timestamped every four minutes between 11:20 PM and 6:45 AM. The remaining seven were from Victoria and Lorenzo Moretti.
I scrolled past dozens of increasingly frantic messages from my husband until I reached the final text he had sent twenty minutes ago:
"Baby, please wake up and answer the phone. My parents saw the photos from the wedding. They took the private jet from New York and they’re almost at the building. Please talk to me before they get here."
Before I could set the phone down, the heavy oak door of my bedroom swung open without a knock.
Adrian stood on the threshold.
For a man who prided himself on looking untouchable at all hours, he looked like a wreck. He was still wearing yesterday’s navy-blue custom tuxedo, though the jacket was wrinkled, his white silk bow tie hung untied around his collar, and dark shadows bruised the skin beneath his bloodshot eyes. He had clearly spent the night driving between our penthouse, our lakeshore house in Evanston, and my best friend’s condo trying to figure out where I had gone after the concierge accidentally told him my car had left the garage—never realizing I had simply lent my SUV to the housekeeper for the weekend.
"Claire," Adrian breathed, sagging against the doorframe as relief washed briefly across his exhausted face. "Thank God. Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been all night?"
I looked down at the glowing screen in my hand, then up at him.
"Apparently, ninety-eight calls' worth," I said calmly.
He walked toward the bed, running a hand through his disheveled dark hair as frustration crept back into his voice to cover his guilt.
"Why the hell did you turn your phone off and unplug the house line?" he demanded. "I had two security teams checking the hospitals at three in the morning because nobody could reach you!"
"You told me at four o'clock yesterday that I had a stomach virus and needed to stay home and rest," I replied, my voice smooth and completely unbothered. "People who are resting don't answer telephones, Adrian."
His jaw tightened at having his own lie handed back to him so neatly.
"So I did," he muttered, reaching into his tuxedo pocket and pulling out the antique emerald-and-diamond bracelet to set it quietly back on my dresser before I noticed—except his eyes froze halfway across the room.
Sitting in the exact center of the polished mahogany nightstand, catching a shaft of morning sun right beside my water glass, were my diamond engagement ring and my platinum wedding band.
All the air seemed to leave Adrian’s lungs at once. He stopped two feet from the bed, staring down at the bare fourth finger of my left hand.
"Claire," he whispered, his voice dropping an octave. "Why aren't you wearing your wedding ring?"
I tilted my head slightly and met his gaze without blinking.
"Funny," I said softly. "I was just about to ask you why Sophia was wearing my bracelet."
For the second time in twelve hours, Adrian Moretti stood completely mute, his fingers curling helplessly around the emerald heirloom still half-hidden inside his tuxedo pocket.
Suddenly, thirty stories below on the private courtyard drive reserved for penthouse owners, the heavy thud of three armored SUV doors slamming shut echoed faintly through the open ventilation transom.
May you like
I watched every drop of color drain from my husband’s face as the private high-speed elevator chimed in the foyer outside, followed four seconds later by brisk, furious footsteps approaching our front entrance.
Then the doorbell rang.
