“That isn’t what I asked.”
“I handled it.”
I stopped outside the door.
Priya looked at me.
I pushed it open.
Adrian stood beside the windows with a glass in his hand.
For one suspended second, he looked like the man I had married: dark hair slightly untidy, tie loosened at the collar, the familiar crease between his eyebrows.
Then he saw me.
The glass slipped in his hand but did not fall.
“Elena.”
A woman stood near the fireplace. She was perhaps my age, dressed in a simple navy gown. One hand rested protectively on the shoulder of a thin boy with dark curls.
Noah.
He looked at me with wide, uncertain eyes.
Adrian moved first.
“What are you doing here?”
Not I’m sorry.
Not let me explain.
The words told me everything about what he had expected.
“I came with Mila,” I said.
His face changed.
