Chapter 1

Julian's hand slipped from my waist the moment he saw Lianne Cole.

Seconds earlier, I'd been discussing next month's exhibition with a gallery investor. Julian had been standing beside me as naturally as he had countless times over the past three years. Then his gaze shifted over my shoulder and fixed on the other side of the ballroom.

I followed it.

Lianne stood across the room in a simply cut black gown.

I recognized her immediately.

Not because I'd made a habit of researching my husband's ex, but because everyone in our circle knew who Lianne was.

And everyone knew Julian had once loved her.

His hand, which had been resting at my waist, was already back at his side. The movement had been quick, but I noticed.

After three years, I knew him too well not to.

Only minutes earlier, he had replaced my empty champagne glass with water.

"Slow down. You've barely eaten tonight."

"I know."

"That's what you said last time."

Someone beside us laughed.

"Three years of marriage, and you two are still like this."

I took the water without explaining.

In New York society, our marriage had always made perfect sense. Sterling and Mercer were names that belonged in the same circles, backed by families of equal standing. Three years ago, our families had been the reason Julian and I ended up sitting across from each other at the same table.

But sometime during our first year of marriage, I fell in love with him.

He had never told me he loved me, and I had never forced him to.

He remembered that I hated overly sweet coffee. He made sure the driver was waiting outside before my exhibitions ended. He could tell when I was simply tired and when something was actually wrong.

I used to think those things said enough.

Until tonight.

Years ago, Julian and Lianne had been in love. Then she left New York, and he stayed.

Later, he married me.

Across the crowded ballroom, Lianne saw him too.

Their eyes met.

Julian's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

Then Lianne walked toward us.

"Lianne."

Julian said her name first.

"Julian."

Her voice softened around his name.

He was quiet for a moment.

"You're back in New York?"

"Not long ago."

They didn't hug. There was no inappropriate touch, nothing anyone could point to as crossing a line. By every social standard, their reunion was perfectly restrained.

But people around us had already started looking.

They knew what Julian and Lianne had once been.

And they knew I was the woman standing beside him now.

Lianne turned to me.

"Iris."

"Welcome back."

She smiled.

"Thank you."

Someone came over to greet her a moment later, giving her an easy reason to move on.

Julian watched her walk away.

Only when I lightly touched his arm did he look at me again.

"Are you okay?"

"Just surprised."

I didn't press him.

I wasn't going to call a few distracted seconds a betrayal simply because my husband had unexpectedly run into a woman he had once loved.

But I remembered the way his hand had left my waist when he saw her.

On the drive home, Julian didn't bring up Lianne. He asked what time I needed to be at the gallery the next morning and reminded me that the driver would arrive fifteen minutes early, just as he normally did.

Everything seemed unchanged.

I told myself the past didn't suddenly gain the power to alter the present just because someone had returned to New York.

Julian was still my husband.

Lianne was only his past.

Until, not long after we got home, Julian's phone lit up on the table.

There was only one name on the screen.

Lianne.