Chapter 5

The next afternoon, Leo and I stop at a small market a few blocks from the house.

He has agreed to broccoli under protest.

Carrots are still apparently a human rights violation.

I'm reaching for tomatoes when someone behind me says,

“Mara?”

I know the voice.

My body knows it before my brain does.

Grant stands near the entrance in a charcoal suit that probably costs more than my first car.

His eyes move over me.

Then stop.

“You lost weight.”

I almost laugh.

“No.”

He frowns.

“You did.”

“Same size, Grant.”

His eyes drop again.

The jeans I wear actually fit me now. My sweater follows my waist instead of hiding it. I've done my hair that morning.

Nothing miraculous has happened to my body.

I've just stopped dressing like I owe everyone an apology for having one.

Grant stares at my hips.

Then my stomach.

Then my chest.

“You look different.”

“I sleep now.”

His mouth tightens.

“I guess the clothes help.”

There it is.

I look at him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

His eyes go to my thighs.

“You used to wear those huge shirts because you knew how much weight you'd put on.”

My hand tightens around the tomato.

“I wore them because every time I wore something fitted, you had something to say.”

“Because you stopped taking care of yourself.”

Leo looks between us.

Grant keeps going.

“Your thighs got huge. Your stomach hung over everything. You stopped wanting the lights on in bed because even you knew what you looked like.”

For a second, I can't speak.

He gives me that familiar look.

The one that always makes me feel like I'm being unreasonable for being hurt.

“I’m not trying to be cruel, Mara. You asked why I stopped touching you.”

“I didn't ask.”

“Well, there’s your answer.”

His gaze catches the birthmark above my neckline.

“And you’re showing that now?”

I go still.

“That thing was bad enough when you were thinner.”

Leo's fingers tighten around mine.

Grant laughs under his breath.

“I used to tell you to cover it because people stared. You acted like I was ashamed of you.”

“You were.”

“I was trying to save you the embarrassment.”

I stare at him.

He actually believes that.

Grant glances around the market.

“You think lipstick and tighter clothes change what people see?”

“What do they see?”

His eyes drag over me.

“A divorced woman pushing forty who let herself go years ago and suddenly thinks dressing like this means men are going to notice.”

Leo frowns.

“Stop.”

Grant ignores him.

Then he sees Leo properly.

Recognition comes quickly.

“Romano’s kid.”

“Yes.”

He laughs once.

“So that's what this is.”

“What?”

“Playing mommy until his father notices you?”

My jaw tightens.

Grant steps closer.

“Be serious, Mara. Rafael Romano can have women half your size lining up outside his bedroom.”

His voice drops.

“Women he can actually take somewhere without people wondering who brought the help.”

That one lands.

He sees it.

Of course he does.

Grant has always known exactly where to press.

“You couldn't keep your own husband interested.”

His gaze goes back to my body.

“When was the last time you looked at yourself naked and honestly thought a man like that would want you?”

Leo steps in front of me.

“She’s pretty.”

Grant blinks.

“And she’s my mom.”

The silence lasts half a second.

Then Grant laughs.

“Your mom?”

He looks at me.

“You’ve got his kid calling you Mom now?”

“Grant—”

“Jesus, Mara. Is this the plan? Get close to the kid, get into the house, and hope Romano eventually gets desperate enough to fuck the nanny?”

“Don't swear at him.”

Grant grabs my wrist.

“You really think you're going to sleep your way into that family?”

A voice behind him says,

“I’d take my hand off her.”

Grant freezes.

Rafe stands beside a black SUV.

Black shirt. No tie. One hand in his pocket.

He looks calm.

That is worse.

Grant releases me.

“Rafael.”

Rafe's gaze drops to the red marks on my wrist.

When he looks back up, something in his face has gone cold.

“Mara and I were just talking.”

“I heard.”

Grant straightens.

“She’s my ex-wife. I know her better than you do.”

Rafe walks toward us.

Grant laughs without humor.

“She gained weight and stopped trying years ago. I came home to a wife hiding under oversized clothes who wouldn't even let me turn the lights on during sex.”

Rafe stops beside me.

Grant gestures toward my body.

“You really want that?”

Rafe looks at me.

Slowly.

His gaze goes from my face to my chest, down my waist, over my stomach and hips.

My skin goes hot everywhere he looks.

Then his eyes come back to Grant.

“That?”

Grant's mouth tightens.

Rafe's expression stays flat.

“I’m trying to figure out what the fuck you're complaining about.”

Grant stares at him.

Rafe takes the grocery bag from my hand.

Then his palm settles at my waist.

Warm.

Heavy.

His fingers curve into the softness Grant has spent years convincing me I should hide.

Grant looks at Rafe's hand.

Rafe notices.

His thumb moves once against my side.

“You were saying something,” he says quietly, “about my wife?”