Carson couldn’t sleep that night. The image of Anabelle at the event stayed with him—her laughter, her poise, her calm confidence.
It was all he could think about. When he closed his eyes, he saw her smiling. When he opened them, he saw the emptiness of the room beside him, Bridget fast asleep, unaware of the storm brewing in his chest.
He turned on his side, staring at the ceiling. “Why now?” he muttered under his breath. “Why her?”
The next morning, sunlight streamed through the blinds, but it brought no peace.
At breakfast, Bridget chatted about a new client and a dress fitting, her words blending into noise. Carson nodded absentmindedly, his spoon barely touching the plate.
“Are you listening?” she asked sharply.
“Yes, of course,” he said, forcing a smile.
She frowned. “You’ve
