Chapter 1

01

I stared at the crumpled ultrasound printout in my hands. The black-and-white image looked like a smear of fog, and yet there they were, clearly marked: two gestational sacs. The doctor's words were still ringing in my ears like a clap of thunder. Congratulations, it's twins, and by the position they look like a boy and a girl.

Beside me sat Jacob Dunn, my husband, the coal magnate worth hundreds of millions. His face had gone ashen. The string of dark sandalwood prayer beads in his hand looked about to snap under his grip.

Two months ago, at the matchmaking table, we'd laid our cards down. I produced the diagnosis for blocked fallopian tubes and premature ovarian failure; he slapped down the report for severe male infertility. Two people handed a death sentence, teaming up to share a life so we could each give our families an answer.

In the time since, we'd done what married couples do, but the times could be counted on one hand, and we never once took any precautions. There was no need.

And now here I was, throwing up until the world went dark, with two heartbeats inside me.

Jacob ground his cigarette butt hard into the spotless hospital corridor floor, lifted his head, and those eyes that had read a thousand faces locked onto me. His voice came out raw, like he'd swallowed a fistful of sand. "Miriam Powell, this isn't as simple as it looks, and we both know it. The day these kids are born is the day the truth comes out."

To the outside world, Jacob and I were a rose planted in cow dung. To the two of us, we were two broken boats lashed together, hoping to ride out the waves the world threw at us.

That day in the coffee shop, I'd worn a proper business suit. Across from me sat Jacob, a gold chain thick as a finger around his neck, a bulging leather clutch tucked under his arm. The moment he opened his mouth, out came a heavy country accent, but his eyes were unexpectedly sincere.

"Professor Powell, the matchmaker's told you already, right? I'm a rough sort, no education to speak of. Wrecked my body down in the mines when I was young. My last wife ran off with another man because I couldn't give her kids. I've got money now. I just want someone steady to build a life with."

Jacob pushed the exam report from the top-tier hospital across to me. The words on it were glaring and plain. Severe male infertility. Chance of natural conception: zero.

I took a sip of lemonade, swallowed down the bitterness in my chest, and drew out my own secret from my bag.

"Mr. Dunn, I'll be just as blunt. Odds are, I'll never be a mother in this life."

Jacob picked up my report and studied it for a long time, his brow knotting tight. Then all at once it smoothed out, and he slapped his thigh. "Well, that's just perfect! The two of us are two of a kind that found each other! Neither one needs to have kids, so neither one can look down on the other!"

His voice was loud, and people at the tables around us turned to look. My face went hot, but I felt the knot in my chest loosen too.

Thirty-five, divorced, no children, a body that had failed me. My parents had nagged me about marrying again until I was nearly depressed. Jacob was a bit rough, a bit older, but his circumstances were solid, and more than that, he didn't need me to bear children.

The day we got the marriage license, Jacob handed me a card. For household expenses, he said. There was a million dollars on it.

"Wife, I don't go in for empty gestures. From now on you're the lady of the house. Buy whatever you want. I've got just one thing to ask. Be good to my mother. The old woman's half out of her mind wanting a grandchild, so let's keep our story straight and say we're working on it. Just don't let her lose all hope."

I looked at this rough man and nodded.

On our wedding night, Jacob drank a fair amount. He came out of the shower smelling of sulfur soap. He sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his hands together, a little awkward.

"Wife, that thing... I know the two of us can't make a baby, but the, uh, the motions... we ought to go through them, right?"

I turned off the light.

That night he was clumsy, and careful, as if I were a piece of porcelain that might break. Afterward he dropped straight into sleep, snoring loud enough to shake the room. I lay there in the dark, my hand resting on my flat stomach, and inside me there was nothing but a bleak emptiness.

We were both people fate had cast aside, huddled together on this grand, luxurious bed for warmth.