Chapter 1

On our second wedding anniversary, the clock had slipped past three in the morning. The crystal chandelier glowed warmly above a table spread with dishes that had gone completely cold hours ago.

In my hand, my wine glass was slick with condensation, and I couldn't seem to stop the matching blur of moisture that kept gathering in my eyes.

The sound of the keypad at the front door broke the silence. Bennett Sinclair was home.

He stepped inside, bringing with him the sharp bite of a late autumn night, and something else entirely.

A thick, sweet cloud of peach body spray hit me before I could take a breath, tangled up with the unfamiliar floral notes of someone else's perfume.

My heart clenched so hard it felt like a fist of ice had wrapped around it. I couldn't breathe.

Bennett ran the Sterling Holdings. Everyone knew how cold and reserved he was, and he was practically famous for his obsession with cleanliness.

The man noticed every single scent. He would frown at a scented candle I brought home if it was the tiniest bit too sweet, so there was no way he'd ever tolerate a stranger's perfume clinging to his clothes.

And more importantly, I was deathly allergic to peaches.

He had known that fact since the very first day we met.

Back in high school, I took one wrong bite of a peach cobbler at the cafeteria. Within seconds, my throat started closing up, hives broke out all over my skin, and I was gasping for air.

Bennett carried me on his back for two miles to the ER. The doctor told us that if we'd arrived a minute later, I would've suffocated right there in the hallway.

After that day, peaches disappeared from his world completely. He once shot a business partner a look of pure ice for offering him a piece of peach-flavored gum.

And yet tonight, the peach scent on him was so strong it nearly drowned out the familiar cedar notes of his own cologne.

He shrugged off his dark suit jacket and tossed it carelessly over the hook by the door.

When he looked up and saw me sitting at the dining table, his brow creased for a second. His voice was as cool and distant as always, with a trace of tiredness underneath. "You're still up?"

I swallowed the ache rising in my throat and set down my wine glass.

I walked toward him the way I always did, reaching out to take his briefcase.

My voice came out soft. "I was waiting for you. It's our second anniversary. I made all your favorite things. I kept warming them up."

Before my fingers touched the handle, Bennett shifted away and stepped around me.

It was a tiny movement, but it cut through me like a blade of ice, slicing straight into the fragile hope I'd been holding onto for ten years.

"I'm good," Bennett said, switching the briefcase to his other hand and tugging at his collar. His tone was flat. "Client drinks ran late. I forgot."

Forgot. One careless word, and everything I'd poured my heart into from noon until eight, every bit of hope I'd been nursing for a decade, crumbled into nothing.

I stared at his sharp profile, the lamplight catching the bridge of his nose and leaving the rest of his face in shadow.

I had loved this man since I was sixteen years old. I was twenty-six now. That was ten whole years of my life.

Ten years ago, it was junior year. We were at a varsity swim meet, and he stood by the bleachers in the afternoon sun wearing a crisp white shirt, holding an AP Physics textbook.

The breeze caught the hem of his shirt, and that was it. My entire high school existence got swept up in the rush of my first real crush.

He was that guy, captain of the debate team, student council president, the Sinclair family's golden son, the secret daydream of every girl in the hallway.

And me? I was nobody special, a face in the crowd, trying to keep my GPA up while my parents poured all their attention into my brother Henry's football career.

Bennett was the only light in my world, and he always felt impossibly far away.

I pushed myself harder than I ever had, loaded up on AP classes and extracurriculars, all so I could get into the same university as him.

I chose jewelry design as my major because it was his favorite subject to talk about, and I followed him everywhere, the library, academic decathlon meets, anywhere he might show up.

I saw other girls drift in and out of his orbit, some bold enough to confess, others content to admire from a distance. But me? I could never find the courage. I stayed in the background, watching, hoping.

Then, two years ago, Bennett's grandfather, Leon Sinclair, got very sick. His dying wish was to see Bennett married and settled.

Bennett showed up at my apartment with a marriage contract and asked if I'd be willing to be his wife, in name only.

I never even asked why he chose me. My eyes were stinging with tears as I nodded yes without a second thought.