Her friend nodded, eyes shining with unshed tears. “It’s time.”

“Yo, Alessandra!” Rajesh called out as she headed for the door.

“Not now, Raj.”

“Don’t you want to know how you did?”

“I’m sure you’ll tell me all about it when you take your percentage,” Remi called over her shoulder.

Camille’s car was glossy yet understated, just like her. The Mercedes purred to life when she pushed the start button.

“Well, that was quite a night. I think the entire art world is going to be saying your name,” she said, waiting for Remi to fasten her seatbelt before pulling out of the parking space.

“Let’s go back to the packing thing,” Remi suggested. Her commercial success was nothing compared to her friend being ready to leave.

“Warren is in Washington for the next four days. Something terribly important about next year’s campaign,” Camille said, pointing them toward the expressway, leaving Chicago’s cold but sparkly downtown behind them.

“Where are you going to go?” Remi asked.

“My parents’ first,” Camille said. “I already called my mother. She thinks it’s a spontaneous visit, so she’ll be very disappointed when I tell her the real reason.”

“But they’ll support you, won’t they?” Remi pushed.

“They’ll have to,” Camille said. “I have a lawyer friend in town and I have an appointment with her on Tuesday. She already has a copy of the prenup.”

“You didn’t send it from your phone, did you?” Remi asked. Camille seemed awfully calm for a woman who’d just decided to leave her husband. A man who’d mentioned on more than one occasion that if she did leave, he’d end her life.

Remi believed him. She’d noticed something, a twinge, really, when she’d met him. But he’d been so smooth, so charming. He seemed like such a doting husband. And she’d never met a real monster before.

Now she knew.

“Are you okay? How much are we packing? When do you leave?” Remi asked, unable to hold back the onslaught of questions. Camille guided the Mercedes down the exit ramp and headed toward luxury suburbia and the senator’s ultra-modern mansion. It made Remi’s semi-renovated loft look like a garage where people got murdered. Well, to be fair, red paint looked an awful lot like blood.

“I’m okay,” Camille assured her with a genuine smile. “I’m terrified, of course. But it’s now or never.”

“Did he hurt you?” Remi asked, trying to keep any of the seventy-five emotions she was feeling out of her voice.

“He always does.”

Camille turned on the radio. Radiohead’s “No Surprises” filled the interior of the car. Its colors and their textures calmed Remi. This was a good thing. This was what she’d fought for. This is what she’d put their friendship on the line for.

“I’ll come with you,” Remi said suddenly.

“Where? To my parents’?”

“Yeah. They can’t misunderstand you or downplay it if I’m there telling them to their faces it’s all true. They can’t try to make you go back to him if I’m there to kick them in the balls into supporting you.”