We flew back to Waco after five days. And that’s when I got to see his house for the first time.

I wanted to hate his house. I wanted to find it ostentatious and pompous, just like him. I wanted it to be something I would find it easy to walk away from in a few months when he decided he was done with me.

But I couldn’t.

It was beautiful. It was a Georgian-style house with gorgeous, gray bricks and whitewashed pillars. It wasn’t huge, not a mansion by any stretch of the imagination. Cozy seemed like a more fitting description despite the fact that it had five bedrooms on the second floor and a rambling floor plan on the first. As we turned the corner of the long drive and the house came into view, I found myself imagining how I would decorate a house like that, how I would change the landscape, and what I could do with the many rooms that looked out on the driveway through huge picture windows. I fell in love with it at first sight despite my determination not to.

“I’ll be late tonight,” Miles said, as he dragged our luggage out of the trunk. “I have a lot of paperwork to catch up on when I get to the office.”

“Okay.”

“There’s a car in the garage you can use if you have somewhere to be. Otherwise, you should probably stick close to the house. I’ll get you a cellphone in a few days so I can get ahold of you when I need you. Until then, there’s the house phone.”

“I have a cellphone.”

“Yes, well, I’d rather get you a better one. A more reliable one.”

My cellphone was a little old, but it felt like an insult when he said it like that.

He walked to the front door without looking to see if I was following. I did follow, curious to see the inside of this building I had already fallen in love with. I wasn’t disappointed. The marble and woodwork in the entryway alone was breathtaking. The French doors in the sitting room, the high ceilings, and the little details in the woodwork on the door frames were all incredible. I wanted to walk through each room and do it again, just absorb every little detail about the place.

“Your room is at the top of the stairs, the second door on the right.”

I nodded, not really listening to him. I ran my fingers over the glass doorknob that opened one set of French doors as I stared out at the terraced garden behind them. It was pretty obvious that the garden was a work in progress, but it already sported rose bushes that were overflowing with late spring blooms. My aunts would have a wonderful time here, planning what and where to put new plants. I was actually thinking of inviting them over when I realized what a mistake that would be.

I couldn’t let them close. I couldn’t let them see the cracks in the façade Miles wanted us to put out there into the world. My aunts would see through it eventually. And I didn’t want them to know the truth.

It was like a cold slap that brought me back to reality.

“I’m leaving,” Miles said.

I just nodded without bothering to turn around.

And that’s how things went between us for the next few months. I stayed at the house, alone, and waited for Miles to need me. When I had a job, I thought it would be fantastic to stay home all day and watch television, but now, I would have given anything to have a job, or an excuse to get out of the house.

We went to dinner with a few of Miles’ clients, attended a some parties, and even drove to Dallas for a big gala at one of the museums there. And it as fun, I guess. Most of the people stared at me and asked stupid questions without actually appearing to address me. Miles was always kind and gentle in front of other people, but the moment we were alone he mostly ignored me. If I’d known it would be like that…I don’t know. Maybe I would have done it anyway. Or maybe not.

I was curled up on the couch one afternoon when Miles came slamming into the house. I mean, literally, slamming. The front door closed with such a clatter that I could feel the house reverberating under me. I sat up and watched him toss his suit jacket over the back of a chair and head for the bar.

“Bad day?” I asked, even though it was only three o’clock. Miles rarely came home earlier than seven on a normal business day.

He didn’t answer. Big surprise. I was so used to him ignoring my questions that I settled back on the couch. I was two more paragraphs in to my novel when he said, “Go pack. We’re leaving in an hour.”

“Pack? For what?”

He didn’t answer at first. He swallowed whatever it was he was drinking. I guessed that it was whiskey—that seemed to be his favorite drink—but I wasn’t sure. Then he turned and focused on me for the first time in weeks.

“I’ve been summoned to my father’s house, so I need you to go pack. Make sure you have a couple of cocktail dresses. Mother and father like to dress for dinner.”

That wasn’t a problem. Joan took me shopping a couple of days after we returned from Florida. She said a proper lady needed a proper wardrobe and she couldn’t imagine that covered my particular wardrobe. It was hard not to be offended by the words that often fell from Joan’s lips, but it was also hard to take offense because I didn’t even realize I was being insulted half the time until I’d had a few minutes to think about it.

I dropped my book on the couch and headed out of the room.

“Riley?” Miles called after me.

I turned around and looked at him.

“It’s very important that everyone we meet at my parents’ house believe that this marriage is real. I realize I haven’t been very forthcoming with you these last weeks, but, please…”

“I’ll be on my best behavior.”

There was tension in everything about him, from the way his shoulders were set, to the way his jaw hardened as he watched me.

“If we can pull this off, it will be the last thing I ask of you.”

“Okay.”

It was a different experience packing for this trip than it had been for our honeymoon. I had monogrammed luggage now and beautiful clothes that required careful arrangement. I packed more than one pair of shoes and makeup—I actually wore makeup now. Joan took me to a spa where they taught me how to accentuate my better qualities and hide my lesser ones. I still didn’t wear makeup often, just when Miles took me out, but it was nice to know I could do it without looking like a clown now.

I changed from the shorts I’d been wearing into a soft linen dress that made my curves look desirable. At least, I thought they did. Miles never seemed to notice. I pulled my hair into a ponytail and fixed my face, tossing everything into the travel bag Joan also insisted I have. Packed, I opened the door to find Miles pacing in the hallway.

This visit clearly had him tied up in knots for reasons I couldn’t even begin to guess. In fact, I’d stopped trying to figure out my husband. He was an enigma that it wasn’t mine to figure out.

We drove to the airport in silence. I turned on the radio when I couldn’t stand it anymore. There was a local station that played some Sinatra, so I switched it to that and was instantly rewarded with “That’s Life”. I hummed under my breath, thinking of aunts with a wisp of nostalgia.

Miles switched it off.

I’d assumed we were flying commercial, but Miles pulled into a small, private airstrip just outside of town where a small jet was waiting just off the runway. He came around and took my hand to help me out of the car, his fingers intertwining with mine as though they owned that space. And, perhaps, they did. He often held my hand when we were out together. I kind of assumed it was to keep me at his side. And it worked. I was always so nervous that it gave me a certain amount of courage to feel his strong hand wrapped around my own. Maybe it worked that way for him, too, though I couldn’t imagine he would need courage, especially not from the likes of me.

We walked to the plane, and a young man greeted Miles by name.