Something’s wrong.

The sheets are cold, still mussed from my sleep, but there’s no indentation from his head on the pillow. I peel the blankets off and climb out of bed. It’s a warm day, sunlight pouring through the windows to kiss the walls. I poke through the doors, searching for Bastien. He’s not here. He never came home.

Anger boils under my skin as I glance at the clock. Nine-thirty. When the hell was he going to call me? I march to the bedroom, grab the phone off the nightstand. No missed calls or messages. He’s angry—I get it. Yesterday was a mess and I feel bad about it, but that’s still no excuse to disappear for the whole night.

I stomp into the bathroom and take a quick shower, after which I take a pregnancy test. Negative. Fuck it all.

I yank a tank top over myself, finding a pair of strappy sandals to wear with dark-blue jeans. It’s too nice of a day to stay inside, and I will not be one of those women who waits for her husband to come home. I’ve got my own life.

Grabbing my purse and keys, I head out the door. He wouldn’t like me walking alone, but it’s only to the subway, and I’m heading straight for Old Montreal, which is always packed with tourists. I’ll be fine. Still, I keep a brisk pace as I walk down the sidewalk and descend the steps into the metro.

Maybe I should tell him where I’m going, just in case.

Screw that. Why should I say a damn thing?

I bury the guilt fighting to the surface and climb out of the subway. A flood of sightseers walks the cobblestoned roads. It’s a gorgeous area of Montreal. Probably my favorite part of town because it’s so much like Europe. The narrow streets and sloping paths with cute boutiques and broad plazas remind me of Italy. Been ages since I’ve visited. Dad and I took a trip to Florence when I was sixteen. I remember being enchanted with the architecture, the cuisine, the lazy pace of living.

Sunshine blankets a wide area, reminding me of the piazzas. Food stands and merchants line the street. It’s packed. People sunbathe in the patch of grass behind the vendors. A queue for ice cream wraps around the booth, and people lug canvas bags filled with fresh fruit and vegetables from the farmer’s market. I stop at a vendor selling flower bouquets for five dollars. They’re wrapped in clear plastic. Beautiful floral arrangements. Cheery colors of yellow and orange were always my favorite, but my gaze falls on a small arrangement of light-pink tulips. They’d look pretty on the dining room table. I want to ask the saleswoman how much it costs, but a man catches my eye.

He stands near the hydrangeas, his head cocked to the side. He looks at me. A smile plays on his lips. The man has a stocky build and a wide back, like a boxer. Short bristles cover his skull, and heavy, dark eyebrows lie across his forehead.

Please don’t talk to me.

I brace myself to be hit on as he steps closer. “Are you Sébastien’s wife?”

Wow. He knows my husband. “Yes.”

“Oh,” he says, looking relieved. “I’m Carter. It’s an honor to meet you.”

I shake his hand, my nerves flattening with his smile. “Eva. How do you know him?”

“We used to work together. I heard he got married. Good for him.” His face splits with a wide grin. “He was so uptight I thought it’d never happen.”

“You worked with my husband?” I haven’t seen him before, but he talks about Bastien like he’s an old friend.

“Yeah, absolutely. Couple months ago he and I started a job. Didn’t see eye to eye on things, but I liked him. Capable guy.” He beams at me. “Well, I’ll leave you to your shopping.”

“Wait. I was going to have lunch. Would you like to sit with me?”

He thinks about it. “Sure. I’d love that.”

Friendly guy. It’s such a rare opportunity that I get to talk to anyone who knows Bastien that I can’t help myself. Carter seems harmless enough.

“What are you hungry for?” he asks.

“I wanted a hot dog. I like them with mustard and—”

“Chopped onions and sauerkraut? Me, too,” he says. “Let’s do it.”

I grin as we stand in line. “Sauerkraut on hot dogs?”

“It’s the best.” He walks to man doling steamies and rattles off the order. “No, don’t worry about it,” Carter says when I reach into my wallet.

He hands me a dog wrapped in foil. “Thank you!” I point toward the grass. “Should we sit there?”

“Sure.”

I follow him across the swath of tourists and sink into the cool ground. Shade from a maple provides relief from the sun, and we sit together. Carter inhales his hot dog and pats his stomach, mimicking a bulge.

“Hit the spot. Thanks for the suggestion.”

The acidic tang of mustard bursts over my tongue, mellowed by the savory taste. “Bastien and I don’t eat junk food.”

“He used to tell me about his kale juice cleanses all the time. Drove me nuts.”

I stifle a laugh, imagining my husband choking down a glass of green. “What? He’s a meat and potatoes guy.”

“Not when I knew him,” he says, grinning.

“I haven’t met many of Bastien’s friends.” I don’t think I saw Carter at the wedding.

He adjusts his shades on his head. “I’d love to get together some time.”

“Well, we could have you over for dinner.”

“That sounds great,” he says, reaching into his pocket. “Here’s my card and number. Bastien has it already, but getting him on the phone is impossible. He’d kick my ass if he knew I was dishing the dirt.”

“Kale juice is nothing.”

He raises thick eyebrows. “Oh yeah? I guess I’ll have to dig deeper.”

“Yes, please.”

Carter stretches on the grass, smirking. “All right. You might not like this one.”

“Lay it on me.” I sigh, leaning back as the clouds shift and the sunshine bathes my face in warmth.

Carter sucks in a deep breath and launches into his story, but my attention drags toward someone in the crowd. A handsome man wearing a very ugly expression. My husband.

How did he find me?

Bastien walks toward us. Rage thickens his movements as he makes a beeline for Carter, who is oblivious. My pulse gallops ahead. I haven’t seen him like this since that awful blowout with Adrián. I’m on the verge of shouting a warning to Carter. He twists his torso as Bastien’s shadow grows over him.

“What a coincidence. We were talking about you,” Carter says.

My husband doesn’t crack a smile. He stoops, his stubble grazing my cheek. “Get up. Now.”

The whispered command is like a knife at my side. I want to argue. Ask him where the fuck he’s been all night, but Bastien’s eyes narrow dangerously.

I follow his pressure as I stand with him, grimacing, but Bastien doesn’t notice. His seething gaze locks on Carter.

“Sit, man. We should talk about old times.”

Bastien makes me walk. “My wife and I have an appointment.”

He’s so fucking rude. “Bastien, what the hell?”

Still lounging on the grass, Carter raises his arm in a salute. “I guess I’ll see you.”

I throw Carter an unspoken apology. He smiles, giving me a little wave. Bastien snatches my hand with a fierce growl.

“What is wrong with you?” My voice is loud enough to turn heads, but I don’t care. What the fuck is his problem?

He forces my arms to my sides. Even though it’s warm, Bastien is blanched. His eyes are lit with fanatic desperation. “Eva, listen to me very carefully. Did you come here with anybody? Any friends?”

“No.” My hands are whitening under his grip. “I didn’t want to wait for you to get home.”

“Are you sure? No one followed you?”

“No! Why would anyone do that?”

He keeps glancing over the crowd, searching for familiar faces. “Come.”

Bewildered, I follow him through the farmer’s market and into a quiet street. He looks up and down both ends.

“You have no right to treat me like this when you’re the one who’s been out all night and day!” I yank my arm from his grip. “I don’t know what the hell you’re up to.”

He pushes me against the brick wall. “I can’t tell you.” He’s clammy enough to scare me. “Eva, this is one of those times where you need to listen. Never, ever talk to that man again.”

I gaze at him, openmouthed. “Why? He said you were friends—”

“We’re not fucking friends,” he snarls. “He followed you to the market. Must have been watching our place.”

The man I had a nice conversation with stalked me. “Why would he do that?”

“To get a rise out of me.”

“Is he dangerous?” I search his mute face. “Bastien, you need to tell me.”

“I can’t.”

I shove him. He stumbles back. “Go to hell, then.”

I make two steps before he catches my waist, his breath tickling my neck. “I’m sorry I didn’t text, but I was with your dad all night. You can ask him.”

I hate how my anger fades with a squeeze of his embrace. “Don’t change the subject.”

“Babe, I can’t talk about him. Neither can you.”

Bristling, I shove his chest. “Then maybe I’ll call him and demand who the fuck he is since you refuse to tell me. He gave me his number.”

Bastien pins my arms to my sides, rendering me immobile as he searches my body.

“Let me go!”

He slides in my pocket, finding the card tucked inside. He holds it to his face. Swallows hard.

“Give it back!”

And he rips it to shreds.

I gape at the bits of paper floating to the ground. “Unbelievable! Is this because I talked to another man?”

Bastien grabs my shoulders. His eyes have that desperate look again.

“If you care about me at all— If you want me to live to be a father to our kids, you won’t mention him ever again. He doesn’t exist. Don’t ask me why, I can’t fucking tell you, but I can promise you that you’ll never see me again if you talk about Carter.”

I’m supposed to swallow that down? “You can’t expect me to accept that. Tell me why.”

“Someday I will. I swear. Eva, you have to listen. Please.”

I know nothing about him, do I? Bastien holds me tight. He strokes my head. Kisses my hair. I breathe in the scent of oak and gunpowder. I want so badly to fall into his arms and trust his sweet nothings. Bury my head in the sand like I’ve always done.

I’m not that woman anymore.

“I’m calling you a cab,” he says.

“Why?”

“You need to leave,” he said in a black voice. “Don’t argue with me, Eva. Please. You have no idea what he is.”

The cab rolls to the curb a minute later, Bastien holding on to my hand as though I might slip and float away like a dandelion. Then he grabs my jaw and kisses me. His mouth crushes against mine as though it’s the last time. His hand dives in my hair, deepening the kiss. I marvel at the burst of heat exploding in my chest as he soothes every ache in my heart. Being with him is enough, but kissing him is incredible.

Bastien pulls back. “You’re the only thing in the world I care about anymore.”

With a tortured look, he tears away from my hands and gestures inside the car. My mouth parts to demand an answer, the question fading at the plea on his face.

“I’ll see you at home,” he says.

The door slams shut as I slide into the backseat. I jerk against the seat as the car rolls away and stare at my husband through the rearview mirror. I wait until he turns.

Then I lean forward, addressing the cab driver. “Stop the car.”