“She’s very old and nearing the end of her life. She’s a good person. We’re going to help each other out a lot, I think. And my bedroom tonight is in a turret in a grand old Victorian house.”

He dared to relax a little. “Describe it to me.”

“There are four tall windows, and either the house sits at an angle, or the shoreline curves, because I can see the ocean from all of them. There’s a double bed with a walnut frame. It’s made with a homemade quilt with faded colors, and I’ve got a comfortable armchair. I’m sitting in it right now, looking at the water. I’ll be able to listen to the surf when I go to sleep.”

“Beautiful,” he murmured, his voice husky. Muffling his phone for a moment, he flung his plate viciously across the room. It shattered against the wall. “You sound happy.”

“Well, that’s complicated,” she said dryly. “But I’m happy to be here, and I feel safe.”

“That’s very good to hear. You should have always felt safe—always been safe.”

Truth was, she was better off without him. He had always known that. He was a morose son of a bitch. He didn’t know how to be anything other than cold, brooding, and driven.

Hesitantly, she asked, “How are things going for you?”

“Well, that’s complicated too,” he told her, matching her dryness.

“I imagine it is.” She fell silent.

“It’s not that I don’t want or need to tell you things, milaya, but I’m not sure how much I should say over the phone,” he said gently.

“I… see.” Suddenly she asked, “Are you safe?”

A startled warmth spread through him. “Tonight I am very safe.”

“Right. You are for tonight. Maybe we shouldn’t talk anymore.”

Her sudden intensity jolted him. “Don’t hang up.”

“Why? What are we trying to do here—sort of carry on a relationship but not really, while you get to be in danger and embrace a vendetta, or sometimes not, and I can’t know about any of it? I already told you once. I can’t be the mistress to your wife.”

I’m not waiting.

His scotch glass broke. Looking down, he found he was clenching the pieces hard enough to drive one of them into his palm. Blood dripped onto the granite counter. He said, “Meet me next weekend.”

She coughed out an incredulous laugh. He heard the stress threading through it. “You’re kidding. Right?”