An hour later, she lay on her side, wide awake, her hands pressed to her stomach. She didn’t mind that Zach had loved another woman so deeply, but what did hurt was that he could never love her with the same intensity. Marrying her, he’d claimed, made practical and financial sense. He was fond of her.

Like a romantic idiot, Janine had been frolicking through their short marriage, confident that they’d soon be in love with each other and live happily ever after with their two-point-five children in their perfect little home with the white picket fence.

Zach had loved Marie, who’d dedicated herself to her country.

The most patriotic thing Janine had ever done was cast her vote at election time. She didn’t think she should include the two occasions she’d made coffee at Red Cross meetings.

Marie was a linguist. After two years of high-school French, Janine wasn’t bad at conjugating verbs, but got hopelessly lost in real conversations.

“I had to ask,” she groaned to herself. She was almost certain that Zach would never have mentioned Marie if she hadn’t forced the subject. How blissful her ignorance had been. How comfortable.

She could never be the great love of his life and would always remain in the background. Far in the background…

When Janine heard Zach moving around the house a few hours later, she rolled over and glanced at the clock, assuming it was the middle of the night. Then she noticed it was midmorning; they’d planned to be on the road before now. Tossing aside the blankets, she stumbled out of bed and reached blindly for her robe. But she wasn’t paying attention. She collided with the wall and gave a shout of pain. She cupped her hand over her nose and closed her eyes. Tears rolled slowly down her cheeks.

“Janine.” Zach pounded on the door. “Are you all right?”

“No,” she cried, still holding her nose. She looked in the mirror and lowered her hand. Just as she’d suspected, her nose was bleeding.

“Can I come in?” Zach asked next.

“No…go away.” She hurried to the adjoining bathroom, tilting back her head and clamping both hands over her nose.

“You sound funny. I’m coming in.”

“No,” she hollered again. “Go away.” She groped for a washcloth. The tears rained down now, more from humiliation than pain.

“I’m coming in,” Zach shouted, his voice distinctly irritated.

Before Janine could protest, the bedroom door flew open and Zach stalked inside. He stopped in the bathroom doorway. “What happened?”

Pressing the cold cloth over the lower half of her face with one hand, Janine gestured violently with the other, demanding that he leave.

“Let me look at that,” he said, obviously determined to deal with her bloody nose, as well as her anger. He pushed gently against her shoulders, lowering her onto the edge of the tub, and carefully removed the cloth.

“What did you do? Meet up with a prizefighter?”

“Don’t you dare make fun of me!” The tears ran down her cheeks again and plummeted on her silk collar.