“Jesus, Violet. What is it?”

  “Nothing. What do you want to talk about?”

  “It’s nothing bad, baby,” he says, his hand cupping my face, his tender gesture taming my racing heart.

  “It’s Braxton’s birthday, this weekend.”

  “Okay.”

  He pauses and locks my eyes.

  “He wants me to DJ at his party.”

  “Okay.”

  “I want you to come with me,” he says, gauging my reaction.

  “Okay,” I say, without an inflection in my voice.

  “Is that an answer?”

  “Yes, I’ll go,” I say, my voice strained.

  I swing my legs off the bed.

  “Hey. Where are you going?”

  He leaps out of bed, grabs my arm and spins me against the wall. He slams his hands either side of my head, caging me in.

  “You said you wouldn’t run, Violet.”

  “I’m not running,” I say.

  “You have to come with me. She can’t be a ghost in your head. You’ll see for yourself that I told you the truth.”

  “Okay.”

  My voice slips out broken.

  He brushes the hair away from my face.

  “Stop saying it’s okay when you’re crying.”

  “I’m not crying,” I say, tears rolling down my face.

  He buries me in his arms.

  “I love you, Violet. Never forget that. You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved.”

  This is the beginning of my new life, a life I’ve never dreamed of, so perfect and consuming, so rich. My heart and soul grow by leaps and bounds as I drink from this well.

  The woman who lived inside me, shackled, buried alive beneath years of conforming and guilt has finally found a way to escape and emerge, soul young and heart young, wild and free and scared and volatile like spring, changing and shifting and swinging between highs and lows faster than the wind.

  She’s learning to crawl and walk and then to run and fight. There’s a battle ahead of me. I know it, I sense it.

  The question is, will I be ready on time?

  I enter the building and strut across the lobby as if I own it. Tall on my heels, my hips swaying, hugged by a cream dress, my hair bouncing on my back, my eyes glazing over the people.

  People’s mouths pull agape. Someone holds the elevator for me as I casually stroll in that direction.

  As soon as I walk into the car, the crowd goes silent. People slip by me entering and exiting, excusing themselves for every step that whooshes air in my direction as if they owe me something.

  Men try to catch my attention.

  I arrive fifteen minutes late, walk by Roxane whom I greet with a short nod, and stroll to my office.

  At the other end of the hallway, Jonas’ finger freezes on his phone, his eyes trained on me as I sashay to my cubicle.

  Big strides put him at my door before I have the chance to slip in. I throw him a quick glance, his eyes studying me, filled with surprise.

  He motions to my office.

  I step in.

  A huge bouquet of red and cream roses sits in a vase in the center of my desk. He stops in the middle of the room, shoves his hands in his pockets and swings his eyes between me and the flowers.

  “Everything okay at home?” he asks tentatively as I check the flowers, looking for a card.

  I cut my eyes to him, and for a moment he loses his focus. His gaze runs on me imprecisely, filled with curiosity and bafflement as if he’s unable to figure me out. He lets his eyes linger on my red nails and then swings them up to the matching scarlet pout.

  “Home?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

  “The emergency... Yesterday...” he says, distracted.

  “Oh... the emergency,” I say, my lips curling into a secret smile. “Yes. Everything is fine. It was quite a scare.”

  Unable to find a card, I slide the vase to the side and flip my laptop open.

  He looks at me, lost.

  “Is there anything else?” I ask, my voice dismissive. “I have to finish my column if you don’t mind.”

  He opens his mouth, but doesn’t say a word.

  “Okay. Have a seat, maybe it’ll come back to you,” I say, and start typing.

  “Yes... Things are great,” he murmurs, tardy, his voice faint as if he’s talking to himself.

  I cut my eyes to him.

  “The new section is doing great. The traffic has doubled within the last week, and I expect the trend to continue,” he says.

  “Okay,” I say and flip my eyes back to my work.

  “I’ve made a decision,” he says.

  “Yes?”

  “Regarding your promotion.”

  “Okay,” I say, flat.

  “It’s a newly created position. You’ll oversee all the operations and departments. The salary is double and comes with an annual bonus.”

  I stop typing. He expects something... A squeal, a hug. A happy grin.

  “Okay. When do you need an answer?” I ask evenly.

  He looks at me as if I’ve just shape-shifted into a leprechaun.

  “How does next week sound?”

  “Sounds great,” I say and look back at the laptop. “By the way, I need Friday off.”

  “Sure no problem,” he says courteously, eager to please me.

  He rises to his feet when a messenger walks through the doorway, carrying another bouquet of flowers and a box of gourmet cupcakes.

  “It’s your birthday?”

  “No,” I say, smiling as I fish the card tucked between the flowers, flip it open and read.

  Lunch at one. I’ll wait downstairs, and tell your boss to fuck off. J.

  I barely suppress my laughter. I raise my eyes to Jonas who studies me, amused.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I am,” I say, unable to stifle my grin.

  My eyes glaze over his shoulder, focusing on the other end of the corridor where I spot Jagger’s back right before he slips around the corner.

  A few hours later, I push through the revolving doors and strut out of the building.

  Jagger roots his eyes on me as I veer to him. I put my sunglasses on, and drink him in, unhindered.

  He wears low-riding, dark, faded jeans, and a fitted, navy, cotton shirt layered on top of a white, snug fit, tank top.

  The shirt is tucked in and buttoned at his waist. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. A silver pendant sits on his chest.

  He leans against a lamppost, one knee bent, and his hands in his pockets, looking as if he just stepped off the pages of a fashion magazine.

  People glance at him as they pass by. He straightens as I close the gap between us and pull off my glasses. Our eyes lock, the surroundings slipping away from us in a moment, the voices becoming a muffled, distant noise.

  His gaze rolls down on me, a smile sprouting on his lips. He pulls his hands out of his pockets as he waits for me.

  Without hesitation, I bring my hand to his face and kiss him on his lips. His arms curl around me, as mine snake around his waist.

  We break the kiss, his blush and the emotion glinting in his eyes making my heart sing. His hand glides down my arm, his fingers lacing through mine.

  “You look beautiful,” he murmurs, unable to peel his eyes away from me.

  “You don’t look bad yourself.”

  He hails a cab and half hour later we’re in Greenwich Village, sitting in a coquette restaurant with round tables, antique rugs, and leather chairs. Modern art hangs on the walls, white linens dressing the tables.

  The food arrives quickly. Zuppa di Mussels and Baked clams, and then Bass Oreganata and Scallops Livornese.

  “Have you been here before?” I ask.

  “Mm-hmm. I was fixated on Italian food when I came back from Europe. I tried different restaurants, but this is one of my favorites,” he says.

  “It’s delicious. I’ll try to cook this at home.”

  “How come you like Italian food?” he asks.

  “A few years back I was working for a small firm in Long Island, and the boss decided to take the employees out for an early Christmas dinner. We were only a handful of people. One of my co-workers suggested Italian. My boss’ wife picked the restaurant, and that’s how I got a taste of the Italian food. Then I tried to cook the same dishes at home, not so much for my family, but for myself, and I loved it.”

  I dab my lips with the napkin and lean back. We lock eyes briefly before my gaze swings away.

  “Listen...” I say, hesitantly, before I look back at him.

  “The reason Jonas was in my office today...”

  “Yes?”

  His eyes sink into mine.

  “He made me an offer...”

  I expect a reaction, but nothing shows on his face.

  “What kind of offer?”

  “Editor-in-Chief.”

  He studies me, silent.

  “I told him I’ll think about it, but he needs an answer by next week.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know... It’s hard to say no, but I’m not so sure I want the responsibility that comes with the job, and the strain it puts on my time.”

  I pause. Crossing his arms over his chest, he leans back as well.

  “I want to start my own thing, and I need to put some time into it, which would not be enough if I work the extra hours.”

  “Does he have anyone else in mind? Is he open to someone from outside?” he asks.

  “No, not really. This would be a newly created position. In essence, I would take over what he does right now. I suspect it’s also a matter of trust.”

  His lips purse, squashing a smile.

  “He wants you in more than one way, and this would put you within his grasp.”

  “I’m not a parcel,” I say.

  “No, you’re not, but he’ll try, and he’ll use the job to get to you, and whether you want it or not, you’ll spend more time with him.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I say, irritated, but at the same time admitting to myself that he has a point.

  “It’s not too much of a choice if you want to keep this job,” he says, and a pang of sadness flashes in his eyes.

  “Let’s do this. I’ll work on the content of my website, and I’ll figure out the rest later. For some reason, he’s rushing. His proposal came earlier than I expected. Initially, he said this was something he had planned for next year.”

  Lowering his eyes, he stretches a knowing smile.

  “What is it, Jagger?”

  “You’ve got yourself a hardcore admirer.”

  “And you’re cockblocking him,” I say, jokingly. “That’s why you sent the flowers and the cupcakes?”

  “No. I sent them because you like them.”

  “Mm-hmm. That... and to let anyone know I’m taken.”

  He nods softly.

  “Something like that....” he says, giving me a heartwarming smile.

  “Well, perhaps all the attention you’ve showered me with, prompted him to make his move sooner.”

  “I doubt it,” he says, and nods in my direction. “It’s you.”

  “Me??”

  “Oh, come one... It’s the way you look, the glow on your face. Lately. He just can’t help it. I could see his hard-on from the IT Department,” he says, and we start laughing.

  “You’re responsible for my glow,” I say as my laughter starts to fade away.

  His lips curl into a fiery smile.

  I push the chair back, run my hand over my dress, rise to my feet and bend over to place a kiss on his lips.

  “Dessert?” he asks as I straighten and look around for the ladies room.

  “Yes. We’ll split one if you don’t mind.”

  The hostess points to the other side of the restaurant, and I strut in that direction. As I walk around the corner, I enter a different section of the restaurant, comprising of several booths.

  My eyes casually skim the guests when the shoulders and the back of a man draw my attention. My gaze slips to the beautiful woman in front of him.

  Her blonde hair hits above the shoulders. Perfectly styled, it frames a fair complexion and dreamy blue eyes. She wears a professional designer suit, tailored and feminine, hugging her lean frame, the blue-gray enhancing the color of her eyes.

  Long, crossed legs are visible at the end of the bench, her skirt pulled up to her thighs.

  A flirty smile flutters across her lips as he reaches out to the man in front of her and splays her fingers over his face.

  He presses his head against her touch, a tender gesture that speaks of long-time intimacy, and as his face turns slightly, and his profile comes into view, my breath halts in my throat.

  It can’t fucking be.

  I spin around fast before my ex-husband can get a glimpse of me or the woman could notice my stare. Trembling, I enter the bathroom, a swarm of thoughts romping in my head.

  Who is that woman?

  He’s never showed me so much fondness in a public setting. In fact, we rarely, if ever ate in a restaurant.

  She’s clearly more than a business lunch companion, and although I don’t give a damn, there’s something in her demeanor that makes me wonder how far back they go.

  What if Jagger was right? What if he did have someone on the side? Long before I cared to file for divorce.

  She doesn’t look like someone from work, and normally, I wouldn’t say she is his kind of woman. She’s sassy, sexy and self-assured, qualities he’s always berated, at least when I was his wife.

  It doesn’t matter. Even if he fucked her when we were married, what difference does it make?

  I sneak behind a server and walk back to our table.

  “What happened to you?”

  “What?” I murmur absently, slipping into my chair.

  “You look as if you just saw a ghost.”

  Jagger’s eyes narrow, his hand sliding on top of mine.

  “Violet?”

  I take a long breath as I ponder whether to drag him into this or just coax him to slip out the door, but then I realize, sooner or later the story of my past would catch up with us, one way or another.

  “My ex-husband.”

  “What’s with him?”

  A deep furrow forms between his eyebrows.

  “He’s here with a woman.”

  He pulls back, a bit reserved.

  “No... It’s not that... I’m not jealous, I’m angry. You may have been right... He may have known her from before.”

  “Have you talked to him?’

  “No. They didn’t see me.”

  “You want to talk to him?”

  “Nope, but I’m not going to leave early because of him.”

  He rakes his fingers through his hair.

  “What are the odds? Of all restaurants... Have you been to this place before?”

  I shake my head.

  “No. We didn’t go out much. This is unusual for him, and so is she.”

  “I’m sorry...” His eyes shoot up. “What do they look like?” he murmurs.

  “She’s blonde. He’s brunette.”

  He gives me a soft nod, and I hear the footsteps, and then their silhouettes enter my peripheral vision, and the first thing I notice is their fingers clasped together.

  Jagger and I go quiet, as they slip by our table. His eyes scan them, and as they make a turn toward the exit, my ex-husband cuts his gaze to the woman and spots me.

  “Violet?!”

  Surprise washes over his face, blazing in his voice. His smile falters as his fingers unglue from hers, and they both halt.

  Discontent sets on her face as if she knows who I am.

  “Brad,” I say, cold.

  Jagger’s eyes stay on me.

  Brad steps around the woman and edges to our table, his eyes roaming, curious, on Jagger’s face, of course.

  “I haven’t seen you in a while,” he says, offering a fake smile. “You look great,” he continues, mainly because the moment becomes awkward as I don’t rush to make the introductions.

  He examines Jagger overtly, surprise and genuine curiosity pouring in his gaze.

  Jagger stretches his hand out.

  “Jagger, this is Brad. My ex-husband.”

  The woman presses her lips into a tight line, and that’s when my eyes dip and I notice the company tag on her lapel. She’s a sales rep for a big pharmaceutical company. Knock me with a feather.

  “Jagger is my boyfriend,” I say, and it feels as if the whole planet turned quiet.

  Brad’s jaw hits the floor. The woman’s eyes dart back and forth, a pallor setting on her face.

  “Nice to meet you, Jagger,” Brad says as he gives him a swift once over.

  “Aren’t you going to introduce me to...” I say, motioning to his companion.

  “I’m Sheryl,” the woman says, giving me a firm handshake, a professional habit, I suspect.

  She looks up at Brad whose eyes are still floating over Jagger, and then gazes at me.

  “I’m Brad’s... fiancé,” she says firmly, frustrated with Brad’s hesitation.

  “Oh. Congratulations!” I chirp as Brad’s eyes come to me.

  Ignoring his fiancé, he trains his eyes on me as if we are the only two people in the room.

  My heart beats cold for him.

  “How’s Lorraine? Your parents?’

  “They’re good, but you should already know that…” I say, the irony evident in my voice.

  He seems unfazed.

  “Well, send them my best. It was nice seeing you Violet. Jagger.”

  Suddenly dark, and frazzled, he swoops Sheryl and hauls her out of the restaurant.

  I slump back into my chair.

  “You okay?” Jagger asks as we connect eyes.

  “Yes. What about you?”

  “I’m good.”

  His eyes slip to his fingers, a smile crawling up his lips.

  “Boyfriend, huh...?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve never been someone’s boyfriend.”

  “I’ve never had one before.”

  “Not even...?”

  He motions over his shoulder.

  “Brad? No,” I say, dipping my spoon in the Tiramisu.“We didn’t have a relationship before the marriage.”

  “And he was your first man... Damn, that must have been fun,” he says comically, his grin lighting up his face.

  I put the spoon down and begin laughing.