Page 116 of Filthy Lies

“What? Oh. Uh, no. I got sidetracked.” I gesture vaguely at Sofiya.

He straightens, eyes searching my face. I feel flayed open beneath that penetrating gaze. “You’ve been crying.”

“Hormones.” I shrug. “False pregnancy, remember? My body’s confused.”

“Rowan.” Just my name, but it carries the weight of a thousand unspoken questions.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Vince stares at me with those blue eyes. He waits. Waits. And then… “Alright. I’m here if you need me.” He glances down at Sofi. “Ifeitherof you need me.”

I nod. “Yep. I know. Thanks.”

He looks at me a little longer. Then he sighs and retreats toward the hallway.

“Vince?” I call as he reaches the door.

He turns, one eyebrow raised in question.

“Do you…?”

The words die in my throat. What can I ask that wouldn’t reveal what I know?

Do you love me enough to take me with you when you go? Do you ever think about leaving us behind?

“Never mind,” I finish lamely.

He watches me for one last excruciating moment, then nods again and disappears into the hallway.

I sag against Sofiya’s crib, my knees threatening to buckle. A sob claws its way up my throat, but I press my fist against my mouth to trap it. My daughter doesn’t need to hear her mother falling apart.

I reach into the crib and adjust her blanket. “What are we going to do, Sofi?” I whisper, fingers gently stroking her dark hair. “What if Daddy decides he’s better off without us?”

She doesn’t answer, of course. But his secrets answer for him.

I glance at the door where Vince vanished—my husband, my salvation, my destruction. All wrapped in one devastatingly beautiful package.

When he looked at me just now, did he see the mother of his child?

Or did he see a complication?

Years ago, I thought catching Vince’s attention was the hardest thing in the world. Now, I realizekeepingit might be even harder.

Trust, once broken, doesn’t heal cleanly. It scars. Warps. Creates weak points where pressure can be applied until everything shatters again.

And I am so, so tired of breaking.

43

VINCE

I don’t like the way she’s looking at me.

Ever since I came home from Costa Rica, Rowan’s eyes track me around rooms like I’m a wild animal she expects to turn on her at any moment.

Not that there isn’t a kernel of truth to that—Iama predator. I’ve spent my life becoming one.

But never toward her. Never toward my family.

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