Chapter 2

Adrian came home at ten thirty and found ten pounds of shrimp covering our dining table.

Mrs. Turner had arranged them in four serving bowls over ice. Their shells shone pink beneath the pendant lights. I sat at the end of the table in silk pajamas, reviewing a market report on my tablet.

He stopped in the doorway.

"Are we feeding an army?"

"No." I set the tablet aside. "You're peeling them for me."

He looked from me to the bowls. "Claire, you won't eat two of those, much less ten pounds."

"Probably not."

He called toward the hall. "Mrs. Turner?"

"I gave her the rest of the night off. Sit down."

Something in my tone reached him. He pulled out the chair across from me but didn't sit.

"This is about dinner."

"Good. We understand each other."

"Lily couldn't peel one shrimp. I helped her."

"You hate peeling shrimp. You told me the smell stays on your hands for hours."

"I wore gloves."

"Then you'll be comfortable tonight."

His mouth twitched. He came around the table, bent over my chair, and kissed my temple.

"I didn't know you got jealous."

"I don't."

"You ordered ten pounds of shellfish because I peeled one shrimp for another woman."

"Jealousy is fear that someone can take what belongs to you. I'm not afraid of Lily Grant. I'm concerned about your judgment."

That erased his smile.

I turned in my chair so I could see him clearly. Adrian was handsome in the restrained way old-money magazines liked: dark hair, quiet suits, no visible effort. He had been thirty when we married, already in control of Cole Group's day-to-day operations but still competing with two cousins for the family's final succession vote.

Our marriage had strengthened his position. It had also given Shaw Group a reliable partner for a line of infrastructure and consumer-tech projects. The arrangement was practical, but our affection had never been fake. We traveled well together. We respected each other's work. We had built a home that felt calm.

There had been ordinary tenderness in it. Adrian knew I forgot to eat before major presentations and kept protein bars in his coat for me. I knew he slept badly before family-trust meetings and never scheduled breakfast afterward. When my father underwent heart surgery, Adrian sat beside me through the night without pretending conversation would help. When his first attempt to modernize Cole manufacturing failed, I was the person he called before he faced his board.

Those memories were not evidence that I should tolerate anything. They were the reason I was willing to be precise before I became final.

That was why I refused to pretend small breaches were invisible.

"Do you remember why I picked you?" I asked.

"My irresistible personality."

"Your boundaries."

He leaned against the table.

"Your parents told me you hated casual touching and personal familiarity. You never blurred lines with employees. You didn't collect admirers to prove you could. You were clean, Adrian. Not innocent. Clean. There is a difference."

"And one shrimp made me dirty?"

"One shrimp showed me you were willing to make an exception when a pretty young employee asked. Then you let her insult me in front of your management team before you corrected her like a child who had used the wrong fork."

"I told her to apologize."

"After she looked to you for rescue."

He drew out the chair and sat. For the first time that night, he looked less amused than thoughtful.

I continued. "Our marriage matters to two families and thousands of employees. It also matters to me. I want it orderly, honest, and free of cheap games. I expect the same distance from you that you would expect from me."

"I do."

"Then this is your first warning."

His eyebrows lifted. "Warning?"

"Everyone close to me gets three chances to show me who they are. After three, I believe them."

"That sounds ominous."

"It's meant to sound clear."

He studied me for a few seconds, then reached for the box of gloves Mrs. Turner had left beside the bowls.

"Fine. I won't peel food for Lily again."

"You won't behave with her in a way you wouldn't accept from me and another man. The shrimp is only tonight's reminder."

He pulled on the gloves. "Understood, Ms. Shaw."

The title was teasing, intimate in his mouth. I bent and kissed him once.

"Peel neatly, Mr. Cole."

I went upstairs at midnight. He was still at the table.

The next morning, four containers of peeled shrimp filled the refrigerator. Adrian had already left for an emergency meeting. I told Mrs. Turner to take the food home to her sons and grandchildren.

For the next month, he was more attentive than usual. Flowers appeared in my office. He cleared two evenings for dinner. Lily's name never came up.

The house returned to its quiet rhythm.

I mistook quiet for understanding.