Page 16

DORIAN

Gravel scatters across the asphalt drive. A red juice stains my striped shirt, and my too-long jeans drag the ground. The brick building comes into focus—my elementary school. The same prestigious prep school where three generations of Moore men learned to carry the weight of a legacy.

There are no cars in the parking lot. If I go into the building, I can tell them my driver didn’t come. Do I have keys? I want to move, but inertia binds my legs. An old Honda Accord rounds the bend. Recognition dawns.

The horizon brightens.

The window rolls down, and Caroline’s golden hair drapes her arm as she leans across the divide, her smile warm and true, skin flushed, reminiscent of a young Maine summer girl.

She shakes her head. Her lips turn down in disappointment. The vehicle drives away, and I lose sight of the wheels. I reach for her, wanting to run, but I can’t. My legs won’t move.

I struggle until the scene shifts. I blink into darkness. Sweat coats my brow. My breaths come short and fast. My eyesight adjusts, taking in the dark room and the circular blue ceiling light triggered by my movement. Outside, it’s dark.

What time is it? I swipe my hand over my damp brow. Jesus. My fucking childhood dream twisted to include Caroline. How many pills did I take?

Weak, I stumble out of bed and head to the bathroom. The bedside clock shows ten after four a.m. The meds knocked me out.

What did Caroline do? Did she find something to eat for dinner? The house manager stocks the kitchen, but I often eat dinner with Dad up at his house. I assume there was something for her to eat. I’d planned to have the chef cook for us last night.

My limbs are shaky, the weakness noticeable with the slight tremble in my hand while brushing my teeth. I need food. Something to settle my stomach. Caffeine to ward off another headache. After changing into pajama bottoms, a plain T-shirt, and slippers, I head downstairs.

Motion-activated lights trigger along my path, casting a glow beneath cabinets and along the floor.

In a dreamlike fog, I start the coffee machine and place a slice of bread in the toaster.

The same mindless routine I follow during five a.m. investor calls with Europe.

Of course, Caroline had to see me like this—not the polished CEO who commands boardrooms, but the version that gets migraines and drugs himself into a comatose sleep.

The house manager stocks premium bread from an artisanal bakery here in Telluride, the kind Caroline used to special order in New York. I’d planned to have the chef prepare something more impressive, another carefully orchestrated performance like the quarterly earnings calls.

Fuck migraines.

I lost time with her. Time for what? For me to promise to sign a divorce agreement?

I should’ve done it years ago. She made it easy to ignore. It’s not like I haven’t had plenty else occupying my time.

Coffee in hand, on autopilot, I head to my office, but I slow as I pass the guest room’s open door.

In the past, she never slept in a room with an open door.

I shouldn’t risk waking her. A magnetic pull drags me into the room.

I shouldn’t—the bed comes into view, and the temperature in the room drops several degrees. She didn’t sleep here.

Did she leave? How? A driver? Is she in Denver?

I rush down the breezeway, headed to my office.

The security system silently logs my movement—a habit from running a company where every satellite position is tracked, every signal monitored.

I’ll check the tapes. Access logs. Camera feeds.

The same protocols we use to monitor orbital paths, applied to finding my wife.

Who can I call to find out where she’s staying in Denver? Who can I call to search hotel bookings? Or access her credit card charges?

I push through the glass door, mentally running through my resource list, when I halt.

There she is. Asleep on the leather sofa.

The gas fireplace blazes and wraps the space in a comforting glow.

Golden strands cascade around her, and there’s a fur throw pulled up over her waist. The light-pink silk pajama top is all Caroline.

Demure, classic, and sensible. Perfect for travel.

A memory of flicking the pearl-like buttons surfaces, of cupping her breast, tweaking her nipple… Shut it down .

Did she not like the guest room? Did she come here to read and fall asleep?

Minutes pass. Once again, inertia binds my legs and slows my thoughts. Her skin glows in the firelight. The prominent rosiness on her cheeks is absent. She washed her face, removing her makeup before falling asleep. Why sleep here?

My gaze lifts from Caroline, asleep in my home, to the landscapes hanging on the wall.

Did she recognize the shots? Did she feel more comfortable in this room?

I sink into the armchair closest to the sofa.

Is it weird that I’m watching her? Maybe.

But what else am I going to do? The sun won’t rise for a couple of hours.

I missed the call with the European Space Agency, but I’m sure my staff handled it.

I could check the Asian or European markets, but I lack the incentive.

If there were any unexpected fluctuations, I would’ve been notified.

As chairman of the board of Bedrock Advisory, I don’t trade.

Brilliant men and women trade, keeping us at the top of the game.

I’m sure there are emails I should read. There are always emails.

Peace flows through my veins, and I settle deeper into the cushion. I set my ankles on the coffee table. My breathing slows until it matches the gentle up and down movement of Caroline’s rib cage.

I wish I’d found her earlier.

If I had, would I have moved her, or sat here, watching and memorizing?

“Dorian.”

The voice is distant. Familiar.

“Dorian.” She’s close.

I blink and squint into the golden light.

“You fell asleep and spilled your coffee.”

I look down. A brown stain spreads across my abdomen. It’s still damp, and the cotton clings to my skin.

“Doesn’t look like you spilled much.” She reaches across my lap, and light shimmers against the pink silk. “Doesn’t look like there was much in it.”

She holds the mug, smiling.

I rub a hand over my face, swallowing. “I must’ve fallen asleep. Again.”

“Did you take more medicine?” She frowns. “How’s your migraine?”

“It’s fine.”

Slightly out of it, I push up and peel the wet material away from my skin, lifting the shirt over my head.

Caroline steps back. I follow her gaze to my chest.

It’s nothing she hasn’t seen before. Is that stare disapproving? Or is she…

A familiar energy surges. If she’s interested… Those blue eyes flicker upwards.

“Did you sleep okay?”

She nods. Her tongue licks her bottom lip.

My heart skitters like a teenage boy’s.

Only her.

I reach for her, and my thumb brushes her cheek. She tilts her head into my palm, and on an inhale, I inch closer.

Her gaze locks on mine. The distance between us shrinks. I palm her hip, cloaked in silk. My fingers glide lower as my head tilts. Her light, faint floral scent has me inhaling deeper, and my skin tingles as if awakening from a long, dormant sleep.

My lips are inches from hers.

She swallows and backs away. My hands drop. She scratches her neck.

“Why don’t you go get changed, and I’ll pour us some coffee?”

I rub the back of my neck, forcing myself to snap out of it and wake up. Outside, the sun filters through the tops of the trees.

“What time is it?”

“Close to eight. Don’t you need to leave soon for work?”

It’s Friday. I cleared my calendar, but yes, it’s a work day.

“Sleeping out here, I guess we both missed our alarms.” My gaze falls to her darkened phone on the coffee table.

“If you need a charger?—”

“I’ve got one,” she says.

I nod, backing away, balled-up shirt in one hand. The ceramic mug sits on the armrest. I could grab it, but the staff will get it.

“Let’s meet in the kitchen,” she says brightly. The high pitch rings of nervousness. “I’ll be ready when you are.”

Right. My nails dig into my scalp, scratching furiously.

What am I doing? Caroline is preparing to leave me; only this time, I may never see her again.

“What time do you have to be in Denver?”

“Ah, this afternoon. I’ve got a meeting, and then my flight’s at five.”

“I’ll clear my morning.” If I were more awake, I’d laugh at the shock on her face. There was a time when I never canceled meetings. “Let’s have breakfast. I’ll get the?—”

“We should probably get moving.” Her chin juts up.

She’s decided. She doesn’t want to spend time with me. Wants me to agree to sign papers, and that’s the end of it. Right. Makes sense.

“All right. It’s a thirty- or forty-minute trip to Denver. I’ll have the helicopter readied and… How long do you need to get ready?”

“Twenty—” My right eye involuntarily squints. “Thirty,” she amends.

“Do you want eggs?”

She looks at me like I’m a stranger.

“I can still scramble eggs.”

I sound defensive. Am I?

I’d love a Vicodin to end this discomfort in my chest, but I won’t take any until I land in Denver. At least there’s no sign of the migraine.

“I’m really…” Our gazes connect across the kitchen counter. Her thumb strokes the ceramic edge of her coffee mug in a mesmerizing movement. “I don’t eat early in the morning. I’ll grab something later.”

“We could get breakfast in Denver. I know several places?—”

“Maybe.”

Right. Does a yes depend on how I behave in transit?

“Let’s see what time it is,” she clarifies.

“We might need reservations,” I say, although it’s Friday morning.

“We don’t need to go fancy.”