Chapter 69

An hour later, Dominic delivered a red Ferrari. I took it out for a spin. Wind in my hair, sunglasses on, death grip on the wheel. I couldn’t even remember the last time I drove, and I barely hit twenty miles an hour, gliding down the street like a pensioner on sleeping pills. Geoffrey rode shotgun, grinning like a proud driving instructor, tossing out compliments like I was doing laps at Silverstone. But after a few blocks, muscle memory kicked in. I loosened my grip, leaned back, and let the engine purr. When I pulled back into the drive, there was an actual smile on my face. *** That evening, just as I was about to retreat upstairs post-dinner, Ashton said, ‘My grandfather’s birthday’s coming up. We’ll need to attend together.’ ‘Yeah, I remember.’ I stopped halfway up the stairs and flashed him an OK sign. ‘I’ll be the perfect fake wife. Promise.’ ‘The Laurents aren’t idiots,’ he said. ‘Well, some of them, anyway. If we slip up, even slightly, they’ll catch on. And if anyone starts