Chapter 2

That made nine times.

Nine times I'd worked up the nerve to reach for my own husband, only to end up embarrassed. I would have settled for him pulling me close and kissing me as though he wanted to.

Instead, I got out of bed and slammed the door behind me.

An hour later, I was at my best friend's apartment, watching Adrian's name light up my phone.

"You're not answering?" Maya Bennett asked.

I switched it off and took a swallow of tequila. My throat was already raw from the cigarette she'd persuaded me to try.

"One drag," I complained. "I took one drag, and now I sound like this."

Maya examined the pack. "The packaging was good, though."

"That was your entire sales pitch."

She set it aside and turned toward me. "All right. Tell me what happened."

"The same thing that always happens. He looks at me, freezes up, and decides we should both behave ourselves."

"Maybe he's nervous."

"Adrian? We knew him in high school. He dated the cheer captain. He's been turning women down ever since, but I know he's capable of dating one."

I stared into my glass.

"Maybe he's still thinking about my sister."

My older sister had been the one our families wanted him to marry. Then she'd fallen for a broke painter and run off to Paris with him. Our parents had been appalled. I had been offered up as the replacement.

Adrian had agreed without an argument.

Since the wedding, he'd been the perfect husband on paper. He remembered things I mentioned in passing. He paid attention when I talked. Anything I wanted, he bought.

Except none of that explained why he kept pulling away from me.

"What if he looks at me and wishes I were her?"

Maya's expression softened. I hated that. I didn't want to be the woman her best friend pitied.

I put my glass down hard enough to make her jump.

"I've decided. I want a divorce."

"You've also had enough tequila."

"I'm serious."

"I believe you. You can still put the glass down."

She took it away, helped me wash up, and made room for me in her bed. In the middle of the night, she flung an arm across me in her sleep. Her new rhinestone nails scraped my neck.

I woke with a headache, a ruined voice, and several angry red scratches.

My phone filled with Adrian's missed calls and messages as soon as I turned it on.

When I got home, he was still in the living room. The ashtray beside him was full, and cigarette smoke lingered in the air.

"You're back."

He sounded almost as hoarse as I did. I opened my mouth to answer, but his attention caught on my neck.

His expression changed.

I didn't have the energy for another argument. "I feel awful. I'm going upstairs."

"Claire, where—"

I waved him off and kept walking.

Upstairs, I closed my bedroom door. Nothing about the morning had changed my mind. I didn't want to spend my marriage begging to be wanted.

By evening, I had a fever.

I was half asleep when Adrian came in with a glass of water and the medicine I'd left on my nightstand. He sat beside me and reached toward my forehead.

"Don't touch me."

His hand stopped.

"Who do you want touching you, then?"

I opened my eyes. "What?"

He looked away. "Nothing. You need some water."

He held out the glass. I took it myself, swallowed the medicine, and handed it back.

"Now let me sleep."

"All right."

He set the glass within reach and moved away from the bed. I heard the chair scrape across the floor before I drifted off.

Later, water ran in the adjoining bathroom.

I was too tired to wonder why he needed another shower.