Chapter 3: Alessandra

HE WASN'T COMING.

I sat in the living room, my skin ice cold as I watched the minutes tick

by. It was past eight. We were supposed to leave for DC two hours ago, but

I hadn't seen or heard from Dominic since he left for work that morning.

My calls had gone to voicemail, and I refused to check in with his office

like some random acquaintance begging for a minute of the great Dominic

Davenport's time.

I was his wife, dammit. I shouldn't have to chase him down or guess his

whereabouts. Then again, it didn't take a genius to figure out what he was

doing right now.

Working. Always working. Even on our ten-year anniversary. Even after I'd stressed how important this trip was.

I finally had a good reason to cry, but no tears came. I just felt…numb.

A part of me had expected him to forget or postpone, and wasn't that the

saddest part?

"Mrs. Davenport!" Our housekeeper, Camila, entered the room, her

arms laden with freshly laundered linen. She'd returned from her vacation

last night and had spent the daytidying up the penthouse. "I thought you

already left."

"No." My voicesounded strange and hollow. "I don't think I'll be going

anywhere this weekend after all."

"Why…" She trailed off, her eagle eyes taking in the luggage next to

the couch and my white-knuckled grip on my knees. Her round, matronly

face softened with a mix of sympathy and pity. "Ah. In that case, I'll make

dinner for you. Moqueca. Your favorite, hmm?"

Ironically, the fish stew was what my old childhood housekeeper made

me when I was heartbroken over a boy. I wasn't hungry, but I didn't have

the energy to argue.

"Thanks, Camila."

While she bustled off to the kitchen, I tried to sort through the chaos

swirling through my brain.

Cancel all our reservations or wait? Is he simply late or is he not going

on the trip at all? Do I even want to go on this trip now, even if he does?

Dominic and I were supposed to spend the weekend in DC, where we'd

met andgotten married. I had it all planned outdinner at our first-date

restaurant, a suite at a cozy boutique hotel, no phones or workallowed. It

was supposed to be a trip for us. As our relationship frayed further every

day, I'd hoped it would bring us closer again. Make us fall in love the way we had a lifetime ago.

But I realized that was impossible because neither of us was the same

person we used to be. Dominic wasn't the boy who gave himself a hundred

paper cuts making origami versions of my favorite flowers for my birthday,

and I wasn't the girl who floated through life with stars and dreams in her

eyes.

"I don't have the money to buy you all the flowers you deserve yet," he

said, sounding so solemn andformal I couldn't help but smile at the

contrast betweenhis tone and the jar of colorful paper flowers in his hands.

"So I made them instead."

My breath caught in my throat. "Dom…"

There must've been hundreds of flowers in there. I didn't want to think

about how long it took him to make them.

"Happy birthday,amor." His mouth lingered on mine in a long, sweet

kiss. "One day, I'll buy you a thousand real roses. I promise."

He'd kept that promise, but he'd broken a thousand more since.

A salty trickle finally snaked its way down my cheek and shocked me

out of my frozen stupor.

I stood, my breaths shallowing with each step as I walked quickly to the

nearest bathroom. Camila and the staff were too busy to notice my silent

breakdown, but I couldn't bearthe thought of crying alone in the living

room, surrounded by luggage that would go nowhere and hopesthat'd been

shattered too many times to mend properly.

So, so stupid.

What made me think tonight would be different? Our anniversary

probably meant as much to Dominic as a random Friday night dinner.

Dull pain sharpened into knives as I locked the bathroom door behind

me. My reflection stared backfrom the mirror. Brown hair, blue eyes,

tanned skin. I looked the same as I always did, but I hardly recognized

myself. It was like seeing a stranger wear my face.

Where was the girl who'd pushed back against her mother's modeling

dreams for her and insisted on going to college instead? Who'd lived life

with unapologetic joy and unbridled optimism, and who'd once dumped a

boy for forgetting her birthday? That girl would've never sat around waiting

for a man. She'd had goals and dreams, but somewhere along the way,

they'd fallen by the wayside, consumed by the gravity of her husband's

ambition.

If I pleased him, if I organized the right dinners with the right people, if

I made the right connections, I would be useful to him. Years of helping

him accomplish his dreams meant I hadn't lived—I'd served a purpose.

Alessandra Ferreira was gone, replaced by Alessandra Davenport. Wife,

hostess, socialite. Someone defined only by her marriage to the Dominic

Davenport. Everything I did for the past decade had been for him, and he

didn't even care enough to call and tell me he'd be late for our fucking ten

year anniversary.

The dam burst.

A solitary tear turned into two, then three, then a whole flood as I sank

to the floor and cried. Every heartbreak, every disappointment, every piece

of sadness and resentment I'd harbored poured out in a river of grief edged

with anger. I'd bottled up so much over the years that I was afraid I'd

drown beneath the waves of my own emotions.

Cold, hard tile dug into the backs of my thighs. For the first time in

forever, I allowed myself to feel, and with that came blinding clarity.

I couldn't do this anymore.

I couldn't spendthe rest of my days going through the motions and

pretending to be happy. I had to take back control of my lifeeven if it

meant destroying the one I currently had.

I was hollow and brittle, a million shattered pieces that hurt too much to

pick up.

My sobseventually slowed then subsided altogether, and before I could

second-guess myself, I pushed off the floor and stepped back into the hall.

The temperature-controlled penthouse maintained a perfect seventy-three

degrees year-round, but tiny shivers wracked my body as I grabbed what I

needed from the bedroom. The rest of my essentials were already packed

and waiting in the living room.

I didn't allow myself to think. If I did, I would chicken out, and I

couldn't afford to at this stage.

A familiar sparkle caught my eye when I pulled my suitcase handle up.

I stared at my wedding ring, a fresh ache tearing through my chest as it

blinked up at me in a seeming plea to reconsider.

I faltered for a split second before I set my jaw, slid the ring off my finger, and placed it next to my and Dominic's wedding picture on the mantel.

Then I finally did what I should've done a long time ago.

I left.