The only place near the courthouse where Viv can sit and wait is a Starbucks across the street. It’s far from ideal; even sitting in the window Viv finds it hard to make out the faces of the people coming down the deep, low steps leading to the front door of the all-glass courthouse building.

A baseball cap pulled low over her face, she sips her skinny vanilla latte, peering out of the window and checking her phone every so often, to see if any paps have managed to snap pictures of Damien leaving. Maybe she missed him, maybe the session was quick, and he was gone before she even made it here, even though she skipped the nail salon in the end. She tries to imagine how long something like a custody court hearing can last, but no Law & Order episode on that topic comes to mind.

Then, when all that’s left of her latte is dregs in the soggy paper cup, and she’s getting bored, Viv spots a familiar figure across the street. She recognizes Damien easily by his wide shoulders alone. There he is, coming down to the pavement with another man.

Viv chucks her phone into her handbag and leaves her empty cup sitting on the table in the window. She hurries out of the coffee shop and jabs at the crossing light’s button. Damien and the other man walk down Commonwealth Avenue away from her, but they walk slow. Damien lights a cigarette as they walk. Viv knows that Damien mostly lights up when he’s stressed, or feels a migraine coming. She taps her foot, until the red man finally changes to green and she starts crossing the street. She scowls as Damien takes drag after drag from his cigarette. That’d be just what they need, his headaches to ruin her plan.

She measures her step as she follows the two men. Damien is in jeans and a dark shirt tucked in untidily. The other man, who is as tall as Victor and towers over Damien, wears an expensive-looking suit. Hugo Boss, Viv judges by what she can see of the collar and the back of the jacket. He’s probably Damien’s attorney. She ponders if she should approach Damien while the other man is still with him.

Viv has her story ready, so it doesn’t matter if he’s alone or not. But while she still contemplates her move, the lawyer says something to Damien that Viv can’t hear and claps him on the shoulder. Then he veers left into the parking lot behind the courthouse. Damien stands for a moment, staring at the other man’s retreating back and pulling on his cigarette. Then he starts walking again. Viv hurries her steps.

“Damien,” she calls when she’s so close she hardly need to raise her voice. He turns around, and she gives him a little wave. When she draws level with him she says, smiling, “I thought that was you!”

“Hey,” he says, sounding preoccupied. “What’re you doing here?”

Viv waves in the direction of the courthouse. “Oh, just had to sign some paperwork. What a surprise to see you!”

Viv isn’t sure she’s convincing, so she hurries on, in a lower voice, “I’m sorry you couldn’t make it last night. You said ‘difficult times’ in your text. I didn’t realize that meant court.” She tries to sound sincere but not like she knows anything.

“Yeah,” he mumbles but won’t meet her eyes.

This isn’t going to plan. Suppressing her irritation, Viv asks as gently as she can, “Hey, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he says again, but then shakes his head. “Actually, no.”

Viv had expected this to go one of two ways: Either he’d be glad to see her and take charge. Or he’d fob her off and leave. But he does neither, just stands there on the sidewalk like a sad puppy, waiting for her to speak. All right, she can do gentle and caring when she has to. And she can take charge. Viv puts a hand on his arm.

“Bad news?” she asks, and finally he looks at her. He gives a jerky nod but doesn’t speak.

“Let me buy you a drink,” she improvises the line she’d thought might come from him. “Or lunch. We—”

“Come back to my hotel,” Damien interrupts her.

The way the conversation has been going so far, this is the last thing Viv expected. But she rallies immediately. “Okay,” she says. “If that’s what you want, sure.”

“You drive here?” he asks.

“No, I took a cab.”

Without another word, Damien steps up to the curb, scanning the traffic. After a few moments he spots an empty cab and flags it down. He flicks his cigarette butt into the gutter, and they climb into the back of the taxi and sit in uncomfortable silence for several minutes.

“You sure you want this?” Viv finally asks. She already half regrets having agreed to go with him. He doesn’t seem in the mood for sex.

He doesn’t listen, just stares down at his hand. “I’m losing her,” he whispers. His voice is barely audible.

“What?” Viv asks, trying not to sound impatient.

“My daughter,” he says, a little louder. “Idil is taking Zoe away from me.”

Viv hesitates, then reaches out and takes his hand. His fingers are warm. “I’m really sorry, Damien. Maybe…maybe we should take a raincheck.”

His head comes up, eyes brimming with tears. “Please…,” he says, still in that tiny whisper. “I…I don’t wanna be alone.”

Internally, Viv gives a sigh. Out loud she says, “All right. Of course, I won’t leave you alone, if you don’t want me to.” Even though she’d rather do almost anything else she pulls his hand into her lap and squeezes his fingers. He gives her a small smile.

“Thanks,” he whispers. Viv feels a twinge of pity.

They don’t speak again until they get to the Four Seasons Hotel. Viv makes to open her door, but Damien holds her back. His eyes are dry now, and he looks more in control. He rummages in his pocket and pulls out a key card. “Room 442,” he says, and adds with a strained smile, “I’ll go to the bar first. Champagne okay?”

“Sure,” Viv says, feeling relieved. That’s much more like it. She gets out of the cab and makes her way into the marble lobby alone. The hotel doesn’t allow paps on the premises, but the place is always full of celebrities. Better to not be seen together if they can avoid it. What would happen if Victor did find out about Damien, Viv doesn’t want to contemplate right now.

She meets nobody as she walks down the fourth-floor corridor. On a midweek day at lunchtime not many of the guests hide in their rooms.

Viv lets herself into Damien’s room, a delicious shudder of excitement running through her. She looks around. The room seems uninhabited. Damien’s small bag sits on the chaise lounge by the window, and his sunglasses lie next to the TV. Viv frowns. This room is so small. Why didn’t he at least book a suite?

Oh well, she’s not going to be here long enough to care. She toes off her shoes, pulls off the baseball cap and frees her long hair from its loose bun at the nape of her neck. She puts her handbag on a chair and digs through it for her phone. Clutching it, she lets herself fall backward onto the bed. Phone held above her she scrutinizes her pose. She tugs and twirls her hair on the pillow until she likes the effect, then starts taking selfies.

It takes her a few tries before she manages one she likes the look of. She can’t decide whether she looks better with her lips slightly parted or with her mouth closed. Open-mouthed always makes her think of fish gasping for air. Finally, with her lips in a slight O-shape, she manages the perfect selfie.

Once she’s satisfied with the filter, she posts the picture to her Instagram, using a heart as the caption. Viv surveys the result. Romantic and feminine yet giving away nothing.

There’s a knock on the door. Viv gets up. On her way she drops the phone back into her bag.

“Veuve Clicquot,” Damien says when the door swings open, holding up a bottle. “Just like in Vegas.”

He isn’t smiling as he steps into the room, but his face is calmer. He busies himself with the bottle and pours two glasses. Viv stands by, watching and uncomfortable with the silence. When Damien picks up the two glasses and hands her one, his eyes have a faraway look, even though he gazes right at her. It feels like an odd déjà vu, clinking the glasses and sipping the fizzy liquid.

Viv’s stomach was full of butterflies at their first meeting on the roof in Vegas, and she feels a squirming now, too. But it’s not just excitement this time. Damien still has that flat, faraway gaze. He knocks back the champagne with a wince and turns to put his glass on the table next to the bottle. He doesn’t urge her to hurry up, but Viv feels the mounting tension. She takes a large gulp of champagne and puts down her glass, too.

Damien toes off his shoes and takes a step toward her. He has to look down a mere half-inch; barefoot they’re of almost equal height. Without preamble he kisses her, and his hands are soon busy with the buttons of her short dress.

They’re on the bed within minutes. Damien’s hands roam her body, exploring, teasing, while he peels away one item of clothing after the next. Soon, they’re naked, his erection silken and hot against her thigh. But he doesn’t make eye contact, and never utters a word.

Viv lets him take charge, feeling dazed by how quick he is, and by his efficiency of teasing her arousal to the tipping point in such a short period of time.

They lie on top of the covers, and he crowds close. He nuzzles her neck, her shoulder, then rolls her onto her right before she even knows what’s happening. She faces the window, away from him, and cranes her neck to see him. He looks down, his raven curls falling into his eyes as he watches his own fingers trailing down the smooth skin of her flank. Then his fingers glide down her back, her spine and then they disappear between her butt cheeks. Viv gives a small yelp.

Is he looking for some backdoor action? If so, she hopes he has some lube ready, and takes his time. But before she can speak, his fingers push down and forward, and he slides them into her wet pussy. She gasps. After a few moments of gentle stimulation, Damien withdraws his hand and lets it glide down the back of her thigh. She can feel her own wetness cooling on her skin where he leaves a trail.

His breath is hot on her neck. He pushes her top leg forward, then scoots close. Viv feels his erection press against her butt.

She wriggles her hips back, and glances over her shoulder. She’s ready for him. Damien is still looking down, and for a moment Viv is tempted to snap at him. Why’s he not paying her any attention? But then he pushes into her, and she forgets everything else. His cock feels good from this angle, and he has to take care with the movements so that he doesn’t slip out. His breath picks up, and his pelvis smacks against her butt as he increases the speed of his thrusts.

Suddenly, he raises himself up on his elbow and leans over until he can catch her mouth with his. They’re still locked into this position when his thrusts cease and he stiffens against her. He comes with a low growl.

At last, he breaks the kiss and hides his face against her shoulder for a moment, his curls tickling her bare skin, his fast breaths hot and wet against her arm. Then he rolls onto his back. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “This…I shouldn’t…this wasn’t right.” He lies very still for a few seconds, with only his ribcage moving as his breathing slows. “Can…can you leave, please?”

Viv rolls over, not sure she’s heard him right. He won’t look at her, just stares off to the side. Viv’s gaze travels down his naked body, and to his penis, now flopping against his thigh. He’s not wearing a condom.

Viv ponders. Should she make a scene? Call him out for forcing himself on her without protection? She stays silent. Oddly, she doesn’t feel troubled.

When she doesn’t move, he rolls onto his side away from her, and pulls his legs up. Viv’s eyes glide down his naked back and buttocks. He looks vulnerable, and Viv doesn’t care for that.

He’s upset, and she’s tired of his moodiness. She doesn’t deal well with men and their emotions. Maybe it’s for the best that she leaves. She can’t bring herself to fake sympathy right now.

“Okay,” she says. “If that’s what you want.”

She sits up, feeling some of his seed run down from inside her and onto the sheets. She gets up, glancing at the wet stain, and gathers up her clothes. She pulls them on, steps back into her sandals, and brushes through her hair with her fingers. Finally, she picks up her bag and the baseball cap and goes to the door. “I’ll see you around,” she says, and without another word she stalks from the room.

Victor waits for her when she gets home. He stands by the dining table in their huge living room, where he likes to spread his notes when he works. He looks up from a sheaf of paper he was just flicking through.

“Where were you?” he asks, sounding annoyed.

Viv steps out of her shoes in the middle of the room and walks to the sofa. He hates it when she leaves her stuff lying around, but today, she doesn’t care.

“At Lisa’s,” she lies, picking one of her few acquaintances at random. It doesn’t even make her blush. She flops down on the sofa and pulls her feet under her, snatching up a magazine from the coffee table.

“And you had a cozy little chat in bed?” he asks, his voice acid.

“What?” Viv says, frowning. She looks up at him.

“I saw the picture on your Instagram,” he says, going back to his bits of paper but throwing her a glance every so often.

Viv had forgotten all about the photo. “Since when do you waste your time snooping on my social media?” she asks, matching his tone.

“I don’t,” he murmurs, shifting papers from one side to the other on the table.

“We weren’t in bed, anyway,” Viv says, feeling the need to elaborate on the lie. “She was trying on dresses, and I was bored.”

“Well if you’d stuck around until I was awake you wouldn’t have been,” he snaps. “We were going to look at the promotional calendar together, remember? Slot in your interviews, and wrangle Harlan together. You know he likes you better than me.”

A niggle of guilt makes Viv bristle. “I’m sure you did just fine,” she says in a crisp voice. “And Harlan is an old creep. I hate being around him, and you know it.” None of this is true, but before Victor can reply Viv gets up from the sofa and marches from the room on her bare feet to go sulk in the bathtub.

They don’t see much of each other for the rest of the day, which is easy enough in their Beverly Hills mansion. Viv goes for a swim in the pool, where Victor would never follow. He hates the garden, because the flowers make him sneeze.

He spends most of the day with his papers and on the phone, then disappears into his game room to his geeky movie collection. Viv eats her grapefruit dinner lounging on the sofa in the living room, feeling bored and morose.

She retires long before her normal time. He comes to bed late and bumps around the bedroom until she quivers under the effort not to snap at him and start a proper fight. When he’s finally lying down on the far end of the mattress she manages to drop off.

In her dream, Viv has a baby. A little girl who laughs and coos and babbles. She’s so happy, and the dream is so real, she can smell the downy baby hair and feel the weight of the child in her arms. She holds her close and kisses her rosy cheeks.

And she’s not alone. Damien is there with her, smiling. He strokes the baby’s golden curls, then Viv’s face. He takes them both into his strong arms, and Viv knows that nothing bad can ever happen to them.

When she wakes in the morning, in an empty bed in a still, sun-flooded house, her pillow is wet with tears.