He sat on the sofa, long legs stretched out in front of him. He didn't refuse, but everything about his posture radiated cold indifference—I'm not going.
They were getting divorced anyway. Molly didn't care about something this trivial.
"It's nothing major. I can handle it myself." She said goodbye to Mrs. Vance.
Mrs. Vance kicked her son's leg and leaned close to warn him: "Miles, keep pushing your luck and you can go live with that woman. Drop the Vance name entirely. Calling you her brother is already the biggest concession we're making."
Molly was putting on her coat in the foyer when Miles walked over, his jacket draped over his arm.
Once, this kind of compromise from him would have made her ecstatic.
Now, she just found it tiresome.
She didn't want his company, but she needed a driver. Without dwelling on it, she handed him the keys.
In the car, they didn't exchange a word—same as before.
Molly spent the entire two-hour drive on calls, dealing with work. She didn't stop once.
Miles glanced at her. A strand of hair had fallen against her cheek. From his angle, he could just make out the elegant slope of her nose, the vivid red of her lips.