Victoria gazed up at him and shivered under his gaze. "Alexander... she still hasn't come home."
"I've sent her dozens of messages apologizing for the... misunderstanding at the pool. But she won't respond to any of them."
"Maybe I should move back to my apartment? I never meant to come between you and your wife."
The tremor in her voice was so convincing that for a moment, even I might have believed her.
Watching her eyes fill with tears, Alexander's expression softened. He settled beside her, pulling her against his chest.
He pressed his lips to her forehead in the exact spot he used to kiss mine. "Don't upset yourself over this. Think of the baby."
"Whether Lauren approves or not, this is your home now. You and our child belong here."
Half an hour later, after Victoria had retired to the master bedroom, Alexander stood alone on the terrace, a glass of thirty-year-old scotch in one hand.
He hadn't drunk in months—not since the night he'd discovered Victoria was pregnant.
He pulled out his phone, scrolled to my contact, and stared at it for so long the screen dimmed.
After his second glass, he didn't call. Instead, he typed a message: