By the time I get downstairs, Christopher van Wyk and Magda are conversing in the lounge. Magda introduces us. He’s a close friend, and this was her idea.

“I’m early,” he says, shaking my hand, “but I didn’t know how traffic would be from Pretoria.”

“Why don’t you join us in the dining room?” I offer. “We can talk over breakfast.”

Magda is in the middle of pouring coffee when Valentina comes down the stairs. Like a fool, I stop what I’m saying to stare at her through the open door. She’s crazily, inhumanely, angelically beautiful. Her hair has more volume, and her face has a pregnancy glow. Maybe some of it is the post-orgasm endorphins coursing through her blood, but the pearly quality of her smooth skin is something I’ve only seen with expecting mothers. The blue dress is fitted, showing off the roundness of her full breasts and stomach. There’s a spark in her eyes as she looks straight at me, a telltale sign of secrets, of moments in bathrooms only we share.

“You were saying?” Christopher urges.

“I–uh…”

Valentina saves me by stopping in the door.

I get to my feet. “Let me introduce you to my wife. This is Valentina. Valentina, meet Christopher van Wyk. He’s a hypnosis psychologist.”

Christopher comes around the table to shake her hand. “Please to meet you, Mrs. Louw.”

Magda tenses when Christopher attributes Valentina with our surname, but she plasters a smile on her face. “Christopher is a friend. I wanted you to meet him, Valentina.”

“Me?” Valentina takes the chair I hold for her.

“Since Charlie is now part of the family,” Magda says, “I want to look into all possible treatments.”

Valentina looks at me quickly, a question in her eyes.

“I didn’t have time to tell you.” The truth is I didn’t want to give her the opportunity to refuse.

“We’ve already tried everything,” she says politely.

“Not hypnoses, I’m sure,” Magda says.

“No, not hypnoses, but I’ve met with all the specialists in Johannesburg. Nothing can reverse the brain damage.”

“We’re not talking about repairing damage,” Christopher says, taking his seat again. “We’re talking about making sure he’s comfortable and happy.”

“I assure you, Charlie is as balanced and happy as he can be.”

“Hypnoses can help him be more autonomous.” Magda brings her cup to her lips. “He needs more stimulation and friends. There are wonderful institutions in Johannesburg that can provide that.”

Alarm flashes across her pretty features. “Gabriel, you said he could live here.”

“He can.” I cup her hand. “I only want you to consider all possibilities now that money is not an issue.”

“He needs me.” She glances at the people around the table like a trapped rabbit. “I’m his only family.”

“Shh.” I pull her chair closer to mine and put an arm around her shoulders. “I don’t want you to get upset. The decision remains in your hands.”

“You’ll let me decide?”

“Of course.”

Her tense shoulders relax a fraction. “What does the treatment entail?”

“A few sessions of hypnoses,” Christopher says, “during which Charlie will go into a state of deep relaxation. He’ll come out of the sessions feeling centered and at peace. I’ve used my technique in similar cases to help with insomnia, loss of appetite, speech problems, ticks, repetitive actions, involuntary cussing, anti-social behavior, and incoherent thoughts.”

“Charlie has a short attention span, and he repeats syllables, but he eats and sleeps well.”

“We’ll do an extensive evaluation beforehand,” the doctor says.

“If it’s in Charlie’s best interest…” She looks at me.

“It is,” I say. “There are also legal issues you neglected, such as declaring Charlie financially incompetent and formalizing your guardianship. We’ll look at that after breakfast.”

Her gaze flickers between Magda and me. She doesn’t trust us, and I don’t blame her. She always took care of her brother without help, and we were going to kill him, after all.

“You’re not alone any longer,” I whisper in her ear. “I’ll take care of everything.”

* * *

After breakfast, Gabriel gives me documents to sign to declare Charlie financially incompetent and to secure my guardianship. I’m eager to see how my brother is doing this morning, but Charlie wakes late. I’ll have to have a word with Rhett about the movie nights. Charlie is happy with his new bedroom, especially the flat screen television mounted on the wall.

I make Charlie a breakfast of tea and toast, and introduce him to Bruno, but the two don’t hit it off. Bruno must sense Charlie’s apprehension. Usually, Charlie doesn’t venture outside unless lured by someone dangling a reward in front of his nose, but I give him strict instructions about asking before going to the garden. I don’t think Bruno will attack him, but I prefer to be over-cautious. To get Charlie out of the house, I decide to take him shopping with me after lunch.

When I tell Gabriel about my plan, he’s pleased that I’m getting out and spending money. He walks us out and hands me a set of keys.

My fingers fold around the key ring. “Keys to the house?”

“Yes.” He chuckles. “And your wheels. Sorry it wasn’t ready when you arrived, but there was no stock on the floor. I had to order it.”

There are five cars parked on the curb of the circular driveway. To who do they all belong? Maybe the guards or Magda and the cleaning service staff.

“Go on,” he says, indicating the remote in my hand.

When I press the button, the indicator lights of a Porsche Cayenne Turbo lights up.

“That’s very kind, but––”

“Don’t say you won’t take it,” Gabriel says darkly, “because it’s my job to provide for you.”

“All right, I won’t say I won’t take it, but it’s a big car. I just need something small.”

“It’s a safe car with enough space for a pushchair, carrycot, feeding chair, nanny, and whatever else women need when they go out with a baby.”

The wayward look of panic in his eyes as he rumbles off the items makes me laugh. I punch him playfully on the arm. “I won’t need more than a pushchair and definitely not a nanny.”

“No?” He seems surprised.

“My mom and I were close.”

He still looks at me with his brow raised in question.

“I want to raise my child myself. I want to experience everything, both the hard and joyful parts.” Kris’ words suddenly haunt me. I wrap my arms around his waist and look into his eyes. “You’ll let me take care of our baby, won’t you?”

The tenderness in his touch as he brushes the hair from my face reassures me. “Anything you want. As long as it doesn’t tire you too much.”

Going on tiptoes, I kiss him. “Thank you for the car.” I learned my lesson. There’s no point in arguing.

“My pleasure. Drive safely.”

He nods at the guards standing next to a black Mercedes as Charlie and I get into my new car. I know they’ll follow, but I also know it’s for our safety.

“Mi–milkshake. Can we have mi–milkshake?”

“We’re going to buy Gabriel a gift, but we can stop for dessert. In fact, we can do better than milkshake. How about a banana split?”

Charlie’s mouth drops open. I swear there’s a drop of drool on the side. I pat his leg. “I know. You haven’t had many of those. Not nearly enough.”

We drive to a nearby mall in Rosebank. After Orange Grove, Rosebank is the suburb with the largest Jewish settlement. It thus comes as no surprise that I run into someone from the Jewish business from way back.

“My goodness,” Agatha Murray cries, “aren’t you the Haynes girl?” She looks Charlie up and down. “You must be Charles.”

“That’s right. How are you?”

“You probably don’t remember me.”

It’s hard not to remember her. Agatha has the same look from when she removed her false teeth and slurped her tea from the saucer in our kitchen. From head to toe, she’s dressed in black, always a lacy dress with a cloak and hat. She’s been dressed that way since her husband died, a long time before Dad passed away. She must own a thousand hats. I’ve never seen her with the same one. Today, she wears a box style creation with a crow feather bouquet and a big, faux diamond that keeps the lot together.

“Oh, no, I do remember,” I say.

“Sad about your parents. So wrong.”

Charlie starts to shuffle his feet. He’s getting impatient.

“And Charles,” she says when her eyes are drawn by his movements. “What a tragedy.”

Tragedies are not on my topic list for the day. This morning’s meeting with Christopher already made me feel guilty enough. “Nice running into you.”

“I suppose Charles would’ve taken over the business if not for the accident. He was always a big chunk of a boy, all muscles and the tallest of his class. Do you think he would’ve become the big boss, maybe run the mafia?”

I glance around to see if we’re being overheard and keep my voice low. “I’m glad he’s not part of that criminal lifestyle.”

“Criminal or not, at least you wouldn’t have ended up as poor as church mice. Are you still in Berea?”

“We moved.”

“Where to?”

“I really have to go.”

Bony fingers close around my left hand. Before I can pull back, she lifts my ring finger to the light.

“Will you look at that?” She gives a hen-like cackle. “From the size of this rock it’s not Lambert Roos’ ring.” She studies the ring, turning my hand left and right.

Self-consciously, I pull away.

“Lambert didn’t have a choice, you know. He wanted to marry you. He wasn’t all bad, back then.” She sniffs. “A bit lazy, but not all bad. Everything was set up for your engagement the day you’d turn eighteen, and the next thing you know, the Portuguese break down their door and threaten to kill everyone if they take you in. Said it would be a war between the Jewish and Portuguese. Just like that, they cut you loose. I think the payoff also had a lot to do with it.”

“What?” I forget about Charlie’s fretting and my irritation. “Why?”

“Don’t know. Probably money. Money’s always the motivation in the business, isn’t it?”

I stare at her open-mouthed. My father was part of the Jewish mob, but they had an agreement with the Portuguese in the south.

“Anyways,” she waves a hand, “all water under the bridge. That life is gone. Not many of the old gang is left.” Her eyes take on a far-off look.

“I–I’m sorry. I have to go.” Grabbing Charlie’s arm, I drag him along the walkway.

“Wait! You haven’t told me who you married.”

Not wanting to listen to more, I rush head-on into a flow of pedestrians. Scratching open the old wounds of how my father died was too painful. I do my best to shake her words as I sip a fruit juice while Charlie gobbles down a banana split with all the trimmings. While we are in the café, Kris calls, asking how I am, and somewhat manages to distract me from my guilt trip.

“I need help at the practice,” she says. “Can you come back?”

I owe her. “I’ll be happy to. Can I bring Charlie?”

“I was hoping you’d offer. He did a great job walking the dogs.”

We agree that I’d start next week on my old salary. I don’t need the money––Gabriel transferred a ridiculously big amount to my account––but spending his money doesn’t feel right. I should earn my own.

“Come over for lunch tomorrow,” she says. “We’ll talk about the logistics.”

After our dessert, we hit the shops. I want to get Gabriel something for his birthday. We haven’t spoken about it, but the big party, the one where I was supposed to work, took place while I was in Durban. It’s pathetic, but I care. I can help it as little as I can help how he makes me feel with his touch. Even as I crave my freedom, to be allowed to make choices like any other human being, I meant it when I said I love him. I lied when I said I hate him more. My love for him has quietly blossomed inside of me, growing from the tiny kernel he planted. By the time I noticed the tree it was too late. It hurt when he told me I didn’t mean it. Maybe that was why I retaliated by saying I hate him, and the fact that those hurtful words didn’t have any effect on him wounded me even worse. Yet, always true to his word, he’s making this good for me, and this is the happiest I’ve been in a very long time, since that tragic day on the thirteenth of February. Giving him something for his birthday is my way of showing appreciation. The only problem is that I have no idea what to get him. Gabriel has everything.

We walk around the mall until Charlie gets tired, and I have to make a decision. Coming to a stop in front of a bookstore, an idea hits me. It doesn’t take long to find the book I’m looking for. I pay and have it wrapped. Forty minutes later, we’re home.

With Carly living at her mom’s, Magda has dinner served later. It allows her and Gabriel to work late. Charlie won’t last that long, so I cook him spaghetti bolognaise and serve it with a salad in the kitchen. We unpack his clothes Gabriel’s men brought over from Kris’ and explore his new gadgets, which include a PlayStation and a stack of games, courtesy of Gabriel. He’s settled for the night when Gabriel comes home after nine. Dinner is not until ten. He’ll work another hour in his office. The gift clutched behind my back, I knock on his door.

His deep voice is laced with impatience. “Come in.”

Uncertainly, I pause in the doorframe. He looks stressed and busy. I’m disturbing him.

Leaning back in his chair, he works his tie loose with one hand and holds the other out to me. “Come here.”

I walk around his desk and stop next to him.

He stretches his neck to look around me. “What do you have behind your back?”

“A gift.”

“A gift?”

“For you,” I say shyly. He’s going to think it’s a silly idea.

“For me,” he parrots. Warmth fills his eyes and then appreciation as he trails his gaze slowly over me. He pats his knee. “Then you better come over here and give it to me.”

One more step puts me between his legs as he opens them to accommodate me. With his hands on my hips, he lifts me onto his lap, making me straddle him. The dress rides up over my thighs, exposing my underwear. I still have my hands clutched behind my back, so he can’t let go of my waist without risking my balance, but he stares at the triangle between my legs as if he wishes to touch it with every fiber of his being.

“That’s a real pretty gift,” he muses. “I can’t wait to open it.”

The knowledge of how much he wants me fills my core with heat and my heart with a deeper kind of warmth. I bring the present from behind my back. “This is what you need to open.”

A smile tugs at his lips as he lets go of me with one hand to take the gift. “What’s the occasion?”

I cup his face, feeling the roughness of his beard between my palms, and kiss his lips. “Happy birthday. I’m…” It’s hard for me to say this, but I have to get it off my chest. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I’m sorry I ran. I’m sorry I put our lives in danger. I should’ve spoken to you, trusted you, but––”

“Shh.” He stills me with a kiss. “There’s nothing to forgive.” His expression becomes pained. “No more of this talk, understand?”

I nod.

He holds up the gift. “You want me to open this now?”

“Whenever you like.”

“Grab the armrest. I don’t want you to fall.”

When I do as he’s instructed, he tears the paper away and holds the book up to read the title. “Baby names.”

“I didn’t know what to get you. You have pretty much everything, so I thought you could choose his name.”

In our kind of families mothers name their babies. It’s an unwritten and unbreakable rule. Their reasoning is that as long as they suffer the pain of childbirth, the choice is their privilege and right. The pain of childbirth has always been a foolproof bargaining chip, and the details thereof is an argument men aren’t prepared to take on.

Gabriel swallows hard. He stares at me with a piercing gaze. “You’ll let me?”

“It’s not a real gift, but––”

The book falls onto his desk, and his arms come around me. “You’ll really let me?”

“If you’re fine with it.”

“Valentina…” He presses our foreheads together. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“I was hoping.”

“Thank you.” He gives me the gentlest of kisses, his trimmed beard scraping my skin. “It’s a beautiful and unselfish gift.”

“Do you have any ideas, yet?”

His lips tilt in one corner. “You’re not supposed to say until the baby is born.”

“I’ll never be able to wait that long!”

He nips my bottom lip. “Looks like you dug yourself a very deep hole, but don’t worry, you have five months to conquer your curiosity.”

“You’re evil.”

The smile vanishes, and his expression turns serious. “Yes, I am, but no matter what I am, you’re mine.”

Before he can say more gloomy things, I kiss him again, running my fingertips over the rough ridges of his scars. He’s my darkness and my love, and he has no idea how truly I am his.

* * *

My men inform me of my wife’s run-in with Agatha Murray. It’s accidental, or I would’ve picked up a call to or from Agatha’s number on Valentina’s phone. Yes, I’m a creep. I check my wife’s calls, but it’s as much for her protection as my peace of mind. Our business is dangerous. Even if most men play by the rules and only a crazy idiot will lay a finger on my wife, there are always the nutcases who would cross the line. Besides, she’s still a forced wife, one I keep on a tight leash of pleasure and threats, and I prefer to be prudent when a mob family member like Agatha suddenly walks onto the stage.

Not wanting to raise the issue in front of Magda, I search out Valentina after breakfast. She exits Charlie’s room with a laundry basket. What the hell? The thing is so big it blocks her view. She almost bumps into me. The collision is only prevented because I catch her waist.

Worry makes my voice sound angry. “What are you doing?”

She blinks. Her big, innocent eyes are wide. “ Laundry.”

I take the basket from her hands. “You’re not supposed to carry heavy things.” Scrap that. “You’re not supposed to do the laundry.”

A sweet smile flirts with her lips. They’re full and pink, and so fucking kissable. “There’s nothing wrong with my hands.”

“I don’t care. We have a service for this.”

“Don’t be difficult.”

“You haven’t seen difficult, yet.” I put the basket aside, tangle my hand in her hair, and drag her to me. “I can show you, but it’ll cost your tears and pleasure.”

Those soft lips part. She moans. A soft ripple runs over the delicate skin of her throat as she swallows. When I pull her head back farther to look into the dark pools of her eyes, she sags against me, her body warm and supple. Her pupils dilate a fraction, and her gaze becomes lustful.

My words turned her on. Me, there’s no word for what I am. Combusting, maybe. Exploding. Trapped between our bodies, my dick pulses against her stomach, showing her how she affects me. What I want is to rip off her clothes and fuck her right here against the wall. I may go crazy if I don’t.

Dragging my lips over her throat, I kiss a path up to her jaw. “Would you like that, beautiful? Do you want a bite of pain with your pleasure?”

Her breath catches. “Yes.”

I graze her earlobe with my teeth. “Why?”

“It feels good.”

The sadist in me roars. I want to spank her, whip her, belt her, but not while she’s pregnant. The confirmation that she wants this is enough. Letting go of her hair, I catch her face between my palms and crush our mouths together. My tongue spears through her lips without waiting for her to open. She whimpers, and I swallow every sound. My hand moves up under her dress, finding the elastic of her underwear. My fingers are a hairbreadth away from penetrating her pussy when someone clears a throat behind me.

Fuck. Not now. I let Valentina’s lips go with a sound close to a growl, blocking her body with mine until I’ve lowered her dress to protect her modesty.

Magda walks past us with a scowl. “You have a room, for God’s sake.”

That was a bucket of cold water on our moment. Valentina’s cheeks burn like light bulbs. She averts her eyes and tugs a strand of hair behind her ear.

“We have a meeting in ten,” Magda calls from the end of the hall.

Taking my wife’s hand, I intertwine our fingers. “No more laundry or any housework for that matter.”

“Laundry isn’t hard work.”

My tone doesn’t leave room for arguing. “No laundry.”

She consents with a huff.

“My men told me you ran into Agatha Murray, yesterday.”

“Oh.” Her brow furrows, as if the memory is unpleasant. “Yes.”

“You look upset. What did she say to you?”

“It was nothing.”

“Valentina, don’t lie to me.”

“Nothing important, anyway.”

“It is to me.”

Her shoulders sag. “You’re impossible.”

I take her other hand and pull her body against mine. “I have a video conference in five minutes. Start talking.”

A sigh moves her breasts against my chest. “She said the Portuguese threatened Lambert’s family with a war if they took me in. Apparently, he was bribed not to marry me.”

Every muscle in my body tenses. What the hell do I make of the information? It’s as I suspected. Lambert didn’t turn his back on his promised bride because he didn’t want her. He was forced to. The question is why.

The kiss I place on her lips is gentle. It’s my way of rewarding her honesty. “Be a good girl today. I’ll see you for lunch.” I squeeze her hands and set her free.

“Gabriel?”

I grin like a teenager. God, I love it when she says my name, especially with that sliver of shyness, as if she’s about to ask me for something and she thinks I’ll refuse her. If she only knows, I’ll bust my balls for her.

“Valentina?” I let her name roll over my tongue.

“I won’t be here for lunch today.”

“Where are you going?”

“To see Kris. With all the extensions in the practice…” She wrings her hands together.

“What is it?”

“She wants me to work with her again.”

Kris did what I’d ask of her. This will be good for my girl. She’s not the stay-at-home type. “Do you want to?”

“I’d like that.”

“Good.”

Her face lights up. Everything sparkles from her eyes to the happy blush on her cheeks. “Really?”

“Really. Be safe.”

Her look turns serious. “You, too.”

My cock rages in protest as I walk away from her. I’m done. Finished. Beaten. There’s no more walking away from her. Ever. I can’t exist without this scrap of a woman.

* * *

I more or less abate my nausea with two crackers and ginger ale before getting ready to meet Kris. Charlie and I are halfway to my car when Rhett comes jogging up the driveway. From the way sweat drips from his body, he’s been out for a long run. Things between us have been awkward since Gabriel brought me back, mainly because I’ve been avoiding him. It’s not his fault, but I’m still upset that he betrayed me. In the end, before I ran, I felt like we were becoming friends.

“Hi,” I say to be polite without breaking my stride.

He grabs my wrist as I pass. “Valentina.”

I look back over my shoulder. “Yes?”

“Can I talk to you?”

“I have a lunch appointment.”

“It’ll only take five minutes.”

From the steel in his gaze, it’s clear he’s not going to budge.

“All right.”

He relaxes marginally and releases my grip. “I had to tell Gabriel.”

“I understand.”

“You don’t. Magda’s men were going to kill you. The only way to keep you safe was to play that pregnancy card. Magda will never hurt the mother of her grandchild.”

“Oh.” Understanding blooms in my senses. “I thought Gabriel… I thought he…”

“Was going to force you to get rid of the baby?”

“Yes.”

“Well, now you know.”

“I owe you a thank you, then.”

“I’ll settle for you not being angry with me.”

“I wasn’t angry. You work for Gabriel, and your loyalty lies with him. I just felt betrayed.”

A look of hurt washes over his face. “I didn’t want to compromise your trust, but as I said, if I’d kept my mouth shut you would’ve been dead.”

I look at Charlie quickly, but he doesn’t react to the statement.

Rhett holds out his hand. “Friends?”

“Friends.”

We shake on it.

“How are you doing?” His gaze trails to my rounder belly.

“I’m good when I’m not nauseous, vomiting, or crying for nothing.”

He grins. “I hope you’re giving Gabriel a go for his money.” His face sobers. “Is he treating you all right?”

“Yes.” I don’t want to discuss my relationship with Gabriel. “Very well.”

“Good.” He pats Charlie on the back. “I have to get ready for door duty. See you around.”

The atmosphere between us is lighter. There’s some of the old banter in his manner as he calls back, “At least the baby saved me from training you.”

“Not by a long shot.”

He turns and skips backward. “How come?”

“The minute he’s born we’re back to basics.”

He groans, but there’s a grin on his face as he jogs away.

* * *

We find Kris in the kitchen, frying veal schnitzels. The smell puts me off, but I swallow down my nausea.

“Sit down,” she says. “Food’s almost ready.”

“Yum–yum.” Charlie takes his usual seat at the table and sticks a napkin into his collar.

I pour the water while Kris dishes up rice, schnitzels, creamed spinach, and cinnamon pumpkin mash.

“So,” she says between two forkfuls of food, “I’ve decided to go for it.”

“The plans for extending?”

“The pool, the new operating room, the bigger kennel, everything.”

“Good for you.”

“I reckoned it’s rude to stare a gift horse in the mouth.”

My suspicion grows. Kris is too much of a principled person to change her mind overnight. “Is Gabriel behind this?”

She makes big eyes. “You know he’s paying.”

“I mean, did he tell you to do this for me?”

Caught out. Her cheeks flame. “He might’ve mentioned it’ll be good for you to get back into a business you enjoy.”

“You’ll shove your pride and do it for me?”

She reaches over the table and cups my hand. “He’s right, you know. Giving up your studies was damn hard. Nobody knows how much that meant to you better than me. You lost a thumb, and you can never be a veterinary surgeon, but so what? What’s wrong with being a clinical vet?”

“That’s not what I had my heart set on.”

“Then get your heart set on something else.” She points her finger at me. “You still have the passion. I can see it in your eyes.”

“I’m not going back to uni.”

“Are you sure?”

“I don’t have the heart for it any longer.”

“What about something different in the field?”

I stab at a piece of meat. “What’s your idea?”

“Practice management.”

“You want me to run your practice?”

“If you’re not going to be a vet, so be it. I can do with another vet on the staff, but I need someone to run the business more. It will free up my time to be a vet and not a manager.”

My interest is piqued. It sounds challenging and exciting.

She scoops up the rice with a piece of bread and pops it in her mouth. “More, Charlie?”

“Mo–more. It’s goo–good.”

She places another helping on his plate and holds the spoon to me, but I shake my head.

“We’ll need a receptionist,” she says, “and a vet nurse, maybe even a bookkeeper, and a makeover. A nicer reception area. I’d like to run a rescue center in conjunction with the practice. We have enough space in the back where the vegetable garden used to be. God knows, I don’t have time to plant a blade of grass, anyway.”

I can’t help but laugh at her contagious enthusiasm. “Slow down. We’ll first need a financial plan.”

“We?” She puts down her knife and fork. “Does that mean you’re in?”

“All right, I’m in.”

She grabs my hand on the one side and Charlie’s on the other. “The three musketeers.”

“The three of us,” I echo.

“Way to go, kiddo.”

Charlie, who picks up on the vibe, chants with Kris. “Way to go–go.” Laughter transforms his face. For a moment, he looks exactly like he did at the age of fifteen, before the accident.

I cup his cheek. “You like being a dog walker, don’t you?”

He agrees by banging the end of his knife on the table until I have to put my hand on his arm to still him.

“Finish up,” I tell him. “Kris has to go back to work.”

She looks at my untouched food. “Still feeling queasy?”

“Yep. There’s no telling when it will pass. I wish I was one of those lucky women who only felt sick during the first trimester or not at all.” A thought strikes me. “I hope I won’t let you down when it gets time to deliver this baby. Nobody in their right mind will employ a pregnant woman, let alone for such an important job.”

“We’ll work around it. Don’t worry.”

“Thank you.” I mean it. Kris has always been my lifebuoy, and she’s just thrown me a big one, thanks to Gabriel.

She pushes her plate aside. “How are things going at home?”

“Good.” I can’t help the smile or heat that creeps onto my face when I think about Gabriel’s reaction this morning. “Wonderful, actually.”

Her brow lifts. “Really?”

“Why do you ask as if it’s impossible?”

“Wonderful in what sense?”

“Gabriel is good to me. He’s kind, attentive, generous, loving…”

“Loving?”

“Yes.”

“You forgot to mention controlling, possessive, and jealous.”

“Yes, he’s controlling, but in a protective way.” He’d also threatened my best friend’s life, but she doesn’t need to know. As long as I stick to my end of the bargain, Gabriel will keep his word. “Let’s not forget this new practice management wouldn’t be possible without his generosity.”

“True, he does a hell of a good job of taking care of you, but that’s material.”

“As I said, there’s more to him than his money.”

“You fell for him.”

There’s no more denying it. “You know I have.”

“De–dessert,” Charlie says, licking his plate clean.

“Don’t do that,” I chastise. “It’s not polite.”

“There’s flan in the fridge,” Kris says without turning her attention away from me. “Help yourself, Charlie.” She takes my hand again. “Val, what are you doing? Playing house?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“It’s nothing but role play if he doesn’t love you. Does he?”

I avert my eyes. “Probably not.”

There’s understanding and sympathy in her tone. “There’s your answer.”

“The thing is we’re living together, we’re legally married, and we’re going to have a baby. Most of the time, we’re happy. I’m not going to fight it any longer.” Anyway, I don’t have a choice. “We can’t always have everything we want, but we can be happy with what we have.”

“Okay.” She squeezes my fingers and lets go of my hand. “I’m behind you. One hundred percent. No more questions asked.”

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“I may not agree with what Gabriel does for a living, but I’m grateful to him for pulling you out of Berea. That area is only getting worse. With Jerry being murdered and everything that––”

“What?” I grab her arm, my fingers digging into her flesh. “What did you say?”

“Shit. You didn’t know.”

“Jerry?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Yesterday. I’m sorry, Val. I thought Gabriel told you.” She adds apologetically, “Maybe he doesn’t know.”

Gabriel must know. Berea is his territory. He knows about everything that happens there. A sickening knowledge grows in my gut.

“How?” I ask.

“Shot between the eyes. A neighbor found him in his flat.”

“Do they have a suspect?”

“The newspaper article didn’t say. I don’t think the police are going to make a big effort for a car thief murdered in Berea.”

They won’t. A killing happens every twenty-five minutes. Jerry is one thief less to deal with, and nobody cares if his killer is caught.

Suffocation hangs like a cloak over me. The air in Kris’ kitchen is suddenly too thick to breathe.

Checking my watch, I keep my face even. “We’ll let you get back to work. Thanks for lunch.” I’m already on my feet, clearing the table.

“Leave that for me,” Kris says. “I’ll do it tonight.”

“I’m not letting you come home to a dirty kitchen.”

With Charlie’s help the dishes are done and dried by the time Kris is ready to reopen the practice. I walk to the car on shaky legs, barely conscious of what’s happening around me. Gabriel’s guards parked across the road acknowledge me and get into their cars when we do. I make sure Charlie is buckled up and drag a few deep breaths into my lungs. Alone with Charlie who won’t notice, I let the truth crash over me. My hands shake on the wheel as what Kris keeps on reminding me––the same thing I ignored and tried to forget––hits me hard.

My husband is a murderer, and he killed the man who helped me escape.