EVEN NOW ANGER over our conversation makes my footsteps heavy, each one falling to the concrete with my broken heel. But if I'm being honest, I am more pissed at myself than I am at Vincent. I like him too much. I excuse too many of his actions. I let the jerk of a boss into my heart and the only one hurt by it is me.Now that I am no longer in his home or curious about what we need to discuss, I've found other things to contemplate. Half of me worries his idea of discussing it later will include him trying to work out a demented arrangement between him, me, and his wife. Something I'll never agree to, not in a million years.It doesn't matter how often I remind myself Vincent is a cheating asshole. No matter what I say inside my head, a little voice is always waiting to argue with me—one that says to hold on and wait it out. See what he has to say. For whatever ridiculous reason I trust him. After everything I still want to believe.I want to blame it on hitting my head in the a

Just when I think I've finally gained the upper hand in a situation, Vincent throws me for a loop. "A trip? Where? How long?" I leave out the part of demanding to know if we'd be driving. Puking on Vincent Valiant could be the highlight of my week.He rests his hand on my shoulder and squeezes. "Pack enough for three days.""Three days where?" There's a big fucking difference between attire for Alaska versus Florida.Vincent turns and walks back to the elevator, leaving me alone in the garage without answering my question. Ugh. How did getting a car turn into me mad at him? ...WE WALK across the airstrip together as the pilot lowers a set of short steps from a small plane at the Lansing Capital City Airport. A light drizzle falls on the area mimicking my mood. A full day later and Vincent hasn't told me where we're going, even though he eyed my enormous suitcase skeptically as Davis put in the car on the way to the airport this morning.Screw him and his judgment over my

"Oh, Mackenzie," he says in the drool-worthy way that spikes my anticipation and makes me excited for what he'll say next."Yes?""Our plane in DC is a charter too. I hate walking through airports."I grip the armrest hard, thinking of all the mean things I want to say. Call him an arrogant asshole, stomp my foot, but I've tried those reactions before and they never worked on Vincent. It's time to try a new tactic."Think of your carbon footprint." Him jetting around the country the way he does in one chartered flight to the next. His CO2 output must be astronomical.He chuckles, only to himself. "If you ask nicely, I'll tell."Now this is going too far. "No."I won't ask again on principle alone. It doesn't matter where we were going because I have enough clothes for every situation. Weeks could pass before I need to even visit a laundromat. He can take his destination and shove it. No way will I beg.I may be curious, but I refuse to let it weaken me in this tug-of-wa

How old would this child be now? Would he be school age or hitting his teenage years? When exactly was Vincent in this reckless period? There hadn't been mentions of turmoil or pregnancy when he was young. I attempt the math in my head, but I'm jumbled.Vincent's face pinches together as if telling me the information is as painful as hearing it, but he doesn't get off so easily. "No, but by the time she lost the baby we'd already gotten married. I wanted to do the right thing, so we hopped a plane and were married on the Vegas strip in a ceremony we told no one about."That explains the marriage, but not why they're still together. My mind races, wanting to ask questions but knowing it's up to Vincent to tell me the full story. If I'm ever to trust him again, he has to come clean now."I tried to divorce her after that, but with her depression over losing the baby and then me, she tried to kill herself. I couldn't in good conscience leave until I knew she was in a better place. B

Our boat bobs slightly on the water in the Seine River. Others resembling ours float in front and behind us. The river is full of boats churning up the waters in the narrow space. The only difference between our boat and the others is they are jampacked with tourists. Groups of people chatter and stare out at the city lights as the sun descends in the sky.I check on either side, looking for other patrons on our boat, but there are none. We're as empty as we were when we left the dock. Only Vincent sits beside me on the red couch at the front of the boat."Shouldn't there be more people on this boat?" I ask, not wanting to alarm him but concerned all the same.Vincent left his bulky silent security guard in America against everyone's wishes. When he first mentioned it on the plane, I enjoyed the idea of being alone, but now we are too alone. Where are the people? They'd been surrounding in the busy city, and now we are alone.Vincent laughs, placing a kiss on my temple. It's ho