Chapter Two (Celia)

The lawyer's divorce papers arrived at nine the next morning.

I read every page, signed the last one, folded them, and tucked them in the drawer of the nightstand.

I wanted to hand them to Matteo myself when he came home.

He came home at eleven that night.

He walked in holding a velvet box. It was the sapphire necklace I'd pointed to in passing in last month's auction catalog.

He slid the box across to me, his voice as even as if he were reporting to a boss.

"This afternoon I went to Ivy's. I showered and left. Thirty minutes, start to finish. Your private investigator can confirm it."

"After that I was at the warehouse on the docks going over the books. The people you planted around me saw me there."

"On the way home I stopped at the jeweler's. Nowhere else. Whoever you hired has probably already sent you the photos."

Every word precise. Not a gap anywhere.

I knew he'd bought off every person I'd sent after him, one by one, a long time ago. The eyes that were supposed to be watching him were all out there in the dark now, standing guard over Ivy.

And still, in front of me, he accounted for every step.

Like he was handling a bomb that might go off at any second.

This past year, he'd been unbelievably good to me. He told me where he'd be before I asked. He took me with him everywhere. He bought me so many gifts the closet couldn't hold them.

For a while, I'd let myself believe we were eighteen again.

Then last month, at a follow-up appointment, I looked down the hallway of the OB-GYN wing and saw him walking Ivy out of an ultrasound room.

All that tenderness had only ever been about keeping my eyes off Ivy.

"Really?" I smiled and handed him my phone.

That afternoon, Ivy had added me as a contact.

She didn't write a single word. She just sent photos.

Matteo in an apron at the stove, from behind. Matteo with his sleeves rolled up, mopping a floor. Matteo crouched in the aisle of a baby store, frowning as he compared two cans of formula.

More than three hundred of them.

Every one of them a Matteo I'd never seen in ten years of knowing him.

In our home, he had never washed a single cup. One year the housekeeper took a week off and we ran out of toilet paper, and the whole week went by without him thinking to buy more.

The last photo showed his back as he left Ivy's apartment.

It had been taken forty minutes earlier.

The moment Matteo understood what he was looking at, his pupils shrank to points.

Then he snatched the phone, closed his hand around my throat, and pinned me to the wall. He spoke through his teeth.

"I told you. Keep your hands off her."

"Come after me. Do whatever you want to me. Just not her!"

My back hit the wall, and a dull pain bloomed low in my stomach. The color drained further from my face. He didn't notice at all.

Watching him lose control like that, I suddenly found it funny.

"Whatever I want?"

I pushed him off, grabbed a bottle of red from the wine cabinet, and raised it high over his head.

He froze. Then, as if relieved, he closed his eyes.

"Go ahead."

When he opened them again, he was looking past me at nothing, as if even looking at me was too much effort.

"It's not the first time. When you're done, stay away from her."

I stood there with the bottle in the air.

All at once, none of it seemed worth it.

I lowered the bottle and reached for my phone.

The second my fingers touched the screen, his face changed. He seized my wrist hard.

"What are you sending your people to do to her this time?!"

He used too much force. He flung me off, and I stumbled back. The small of my back slammed into the edge of the coffee table, and I went down on the rug.

Everything went black for a long moment.

When I came back, I looked up and saw him breathing hard, his eyes full of fear.

He was that frightened.

Even my breathing was something he had to guard against, because he was afraid I'd hurt Ivy.

I propped myself up on the rug and gave a small laugh, my voice very quiet.

"Matteo, I've already..."

Already signed the divorce papers. Already decided to let you go.

Before I could finish, the phone in his pocket rang.

A special ringtone. One I'd never heard before.

His hand, which had been halfway to me as if he meant to help me up, stopped in midair. Then he pulled it back and answered.

Ivy's tearful voice leaked out of the speaker.

"Matteo, my stomach hurts so much..."

His face went dark. When he looked at me again, all that was left in his eyes was disgust and warning.

"Celia, as long as I'm alive, you will not touch a hair on her head."

"If you insist on burning everything down, don't expect me to remember what we used to be."

The door slammed so fast.

So fast I never got to finish the sentence.

I sat on the floor, stunned, for a moment. Then I looked down.

On the pale rug, a dark red stain was spreading, little by little.

The cramps came in waves, pulling downward. I curled up against the pain, cold sweat running down my forehead.

I reached for my phone with shaking fingers. The screen was slick with blood. I had to wipe it three times before I could dial the three numbers.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"I'm four months pregnant..." I clenched my teeth. "I'm bleeding."

I hung up and lay on the rug, staring at the crystal chandelier he'd chosen himself.

Ten years ago, he'd told me that if anything ever happened to me, he'd be the first one there.

This time, it was an ambulance that came for me.

As the gurney was wheeled into the emergency room at St. Jude's, I turned my head and saw a familiar figure at the entrance.

Matteo was striding in with Ivy in his arms.

He didn't see me.