Chapter 1

01

In our third year together, Ezra Henson and I finished our studies and came home to the States together.

Among the buddies throwing him a welcome-home dinner, there was a woman.

From the second we walked in, she wore a cold face with a smile that wasn't quite a smile.

"Weren't you supposed to come back with some foreign girl? You go all the way abroad and drag home a local. Aren't you embarrassed?"

He only smiled, easy about it, and introduced me.

"Davina, this is Kathleen Delgado. I told you about her."

That was how I found out the friend Ezra had called every single week while we were overseas—

was a woman.

I smiled politely.

"Hi, I'm Davina Mason."

"That thing you just said—were you insulting me, or yourself?"

01

The smile on her face thinned in an instant.

"Oh, your girlfriend's got a mouth on her."

But beside me, Ezra suddenly laughed.

"Three years apart and our Miss Delgado's temper has only gotten worse."

"You mad? Fine, I'll own it, I apologize. You're the bigger person, you'll let it slide, right?"

His whole face was soft with a tender, lingering smile.

A humbleness I'd never once seen from him.

Kathleen ate it up.

She lazily lifted the glass in her hand to Ezra's lips.

"Blue Label on the rocks, your favorite. Call it your apology. You're getting off cheap."

Under the bright lights, the smudge of lipstick on the rim of the glass looked like some silent dare.

My nails dug into my palm. I kept my voice as level as I could.

"He doesn't drink."

Kathleen looked like she'd just heard something hilarious.

"Doesn't drink? Since when, young Mr. Henson?"

"Or am I misremembering? Wasn't it you who used to haul me out of bed at three in the morning to go drinking?"

He explained with a light laugh.

"Bars overseas are too loud, and I wasn't in the mood. It really has been a long time."

"But back home it's different. For you, I'll drink myself under the table if I have to."

"This one's on me."

And with that he reached for the glass, tipped his head back, and downed it in one go.

And me—I froze completely.

Three years with Ezra, and in front of me he'd always thought half a can of beer was too much.

He'd kept a cool, careful distance from alcohol the whole time.

Overseas there was no drinking-toast culture, but people loved their drinking games.

Someone teased him for hiding behind a glass of juice, saying he couldn't hang, and I'd gritted my teeth and taken round after round in his place.

I drank until I flushed red all over, and only then did anyone realize I was allergic to alcohol.

That was the first time I ever saw Ezra lose his temper.

He pointed at that pack of blond, blue-eyed classmates and cursed them out ugly, then pulled me against him and waited, frantic, for the ambulance.

They pumped my stomach afterward. I couldn't stomach food for a week.

He was heartbroken and scolding me at once for not taking better care of myself.

The one thing he never told me,

was that he actually could drink. Could drink a lot.

Watching him toss it back like that, something smug crept into the way Kathleen looked at me.

"Davina, was it? Looks like you don't know Ezra all that well."

When I didn't answer, she only warmed up.

"Honestly, I've been curious. When this lush isn't drinking, how do you two even connect? Or is it just the bedroom stuff?"

Around the private room, a pack of men snickered, none of it clean.

Ezra pressed his fingers to his brow, helpless but indulgent.

"Kathleen, that's enough."

"What, I can't even ask?"

"Besides, that little bit you're packing—which of us hasn't seen it?"

A roar of laughter went up, loud enough to lift the roof.

And in all that noise, I nearly forgot how to breathe.

Meeting my eyes, Kathleen seemed to remember something and started to explain.

"Don't read into it. One Valentine's Day he got wasted at my place, couldn't even stand. This dog wouldn't let me just walk him to the bathroom—no, he had to undo his own zipper and make me hold it steady for him so he wouldn't wet his pants."

She finished, and the room erupted again.

A few unnatural flushes rose on Ezra's usually cool face.

"I'm begging you, my ancestor, can we please drop it? I told you, I don't remember any of it…"

"How's that fair? Here I am, a perfectly innocent woman, defiled by you, and now you want to deny the whole thing?"

The man shook his head, helpless; the woman was flush with triumph.

And I, who had stayed silent through all of it, suddenly let out a cold laugh.

That one laugh made the whole room go quiet.

In a blink Kathleen swung the point back at me.

"Right, Ezra says you're brilliant at school. Scholarship every year."

"You know, I've heard girls like you—rough background, a bit of looks—half kill yourselves getting a degree abroad just to land a man like him. Made it this far, so you must feel pretty pleased with yourself, hm?"

I looked at her coldly, the way you'd look at a fool.

If my very wealthy parents had heard that, they'd probably have coughed up blood.

Seeing my face darken, she assumed she'd hit a nerve and pressed on:

"Ezra and I go back almost ten years. I've known every girlfriend he's had since high school."

"You're the first one who's dared to face me down."

My voice stayed even.

"What exactly are you trying to say?"

That choked her for a second, and then she couldn't hold back—her voice climbed.

"Whatever. I'm putting the ugly truth out there first,"

"From now on you can dislike me all you want, but if you ever mistreat Ezra, I won't let you off."

Her words landed with weight.

A thin scatter of applause went around the room,

someone praising Kathleen for her loyalty, someone envying Ezra his luck.

Only I lifted my eyelids a fraction, glanced once at Ezra, then once at Kathleen.

Then my lips parted, faintly smiling.

"So by what standing are you speaking to me right now?"

"As Ezra Henson's main wife?"