Chapter 9

When I got home, the study light was on. Elliot was still awake.

"You're back?" He came out.

I responded vaguely and noticed the dining table was empty.

"You didn't come home for dinner, so I didn't cook." He added: "I ordered takeout."

"Good." I walked to the bedroom and into the bathroom, turned on the faucet.

When I looked up, I saw Elliot in the mirror, standing in the doorway. His expression was flat.

"Will you come home for dinner tomorrow night?"

I looked down and squeezed toner onto my palm. "I picked up a private piano student. Every weeknight from seven-thirty to nine-thirty."

"You hate private lessons," Elliot said. He hadn't moved.

"This one was particularly persuasive." I rinsed my face and turned to look at him. "Kind of like how your academy has plenty of other teachers, but you still take on private students yourself sometimes. Isn't it always the generous fee that wins you over?"

Elliot watched me for a moment. His voice went flat. "Is it Dominic Kingsley?"

"Excellent student," I said. Not a denial.

Elliot stepped forward and grabbed my wrist—sharply, the force pulling me toward him. His grip was tight. Every word came out clipped. "You're married, Vivian." His breathing was labored. "Is this what gets you off?"

"You'd know better than me."

I didn't fight him. I leaned in close instead and dropped my voice. "What excites you, excites me. What hurts you, hurts me."

Elliot's expression broke.

He slowly let go of my wrist.

From that night on, Elliot was different with me. Even knowing I was spending time with Dominic, he never brought it up again. No more complaints.

Maybe somewhere beneath it all, he'd realized we'd already passed the point of no return—and was doing everything he could to perform a last burst of warmth before the end.

As for Dominic—whether he was there or not had never really been the point.

But Elliot was doing strange things I couldn't make sense of.

He bought the same cologne Dominic wore, then held it out and asked me if I liked it.

Honestly, the scent was light. I hadn't even noticed Dominic wore cologne until Elliot forced me to focus on it. But the moment I smelled it—I thought of him immediately.

"If you like it," Elliot said, with a quiet, odd intensity, "I'll switch to this."

I didn't respond.

But it got inside my head. It was a kind of psychological pressure I couldn't shake.

The next time I was at Dominic's place practicing piano, I couldn't help myself. "Could you maybe switch colognes?"

He stretched out his fingers and pressed a few random keys—an aimless, atonal scatter of notes.

"We're not together. Why should I accommodate him?"

I thought about it. I closed the sheet music, propped my hands on the piano, and leaned down to look at him. "What if I bought you a new one? Would you wear it?"

He looked up. His fingers curled. He narrowed his eyes a fraction. "Sure."

A few days later I found one—something trendy, all over Instagram. I brought it to him. He opened it on the spot and tried it on. Something in the base note ran sweet, which he described, in full deadpan, as smelling like someone who'd burned their connections, hit rock bottom, and started undercut pricing the competition.

He really did have a terrible way with words.

I thought his scenario over. "I'd still be a client. I'm drawn to unusual things."

"Customer's always right."

He accepted the bottle. He went to get us wine, and his phone vibrated on the counter.

He glanced at the screen and told me it was Natasha. I started to turn away to give him privacy.

He said not to, and answered on speaker.

"What is it?"

Natasha's voice—absent for weeks—came through: tearful, soft, a performance of sweetness and surrender.

"Mr. Kingsley, I let you down, and I know you won't forgive me—that's my fault. I truly regret it. I just want to see you one more time. You gave me so much, and we never even had a real beginning. Let me make it up to you—just one chance. I'm at a hotel now. I'll wait as long as it takes..."

I hadn't expected it to be quite that personal.

I turned away, pretending nothing had happened, and took a sip of wine.

Dominic must have regretted the speaker. He hung up without a word.

"She's offering herself, and you're not even tempted?"

He looked at me sidelong. "That kind of 'last meeting' is usually a shake-down."

"How much did you actually give her? Enough for her to wire half a million to Elliot in cash?"

"It was a settlement. Not as much as you're imagining. If she came up with half a million, she put in her own money too."

He didn't want to keep talking about it. He fixed his eyes on me, something complicated shifting there. "Why haven't you brought up divorce with him yet?"

My chest stilled. I set down my glass.

"I need to find direct evidence of the affair—"

"For the lawsuit," he cut in, tone deliberate, "or for yourself?"

"Both." It came out before I could think. I didn't soften it. I said it again. "Both."

I needed it too.

Dominic looked at me for a long moment. He didn't push. He stood up, crossed to me, and wrapped his arms around me—loosely, carefully.

"I know."

It was the gentlest hold I'd ever been in. No weight, no agenda. Just understanding. Support. I pressed my face down and caught the faint trace of his cologne—the one I'd bought him. Up close, the base note really did run sweet. The closer you got, the sweeter it was.

He smoothed my hair once.

"Don't make me wait too long."