She had also been greedy in her desire to get a rise out of Megan and I had been forced to reel her back in a bit.

“Subtlety is the name of the game,” I had to tell her when she wanted to take things a little too far. Her beautiful face had dropped, the lips turning into a pout. At that moment I’d seen a flash of a woman who one day I would have to deal with more forcefully; but she had been future Chris’s problem.

* * *

In early November, I took Leah to a hotel in Dorset, the big manor house where Megan and I had spent our third anniversary. The man on the check-in desk welcomed us back.

“Mr. and Mrs. Hardcastle. Such a pleasure to have you back with us again so soon.”

Leah raised an eyebrow as the man directed us to the suite.

“Trust me, you’ll like this,” I whispered in her ear as we took the rickety lift toward the top of the house.

The suite was huge, a super-king four-poster bed in the center of the room, flanked by oversized bedside tables hewn from the same dark mahogany. Through a set of glass doors was a plush living area, a dark blue velvet sofa that could seat at least five adults and a curved bar in the corner with rows of spirits glittering along the back wall. Even more impressive was the marble bathroom with twin basins and a jacuzzi bath big enough for even Snoop Dogg to entertain in.

“Swanky,” Leah said, bouncing on the edge of the giant bed and looking around. I’d known this wouldn’t impress her too much; she was a lot richer than I was, after all. “So, what is it I’m meant to like?”

“Megan and I stayed here for our last anniversary. And in just a few weeks we’re coming back again, some rewards scheme so it’s practically free.” I grinned. “Just think how confused she’ll be when the staff mention things she doesn’t remember doing, meals she ate, the drink she always ordered.”

I watched the realization slowly dawning on Leah’s face. “You are a very naughty man,” she said. I could tell she was impressed. “So, does she still hate rum?”

“Can’t stand the stuff.”

“Well, let’s head downstairs for a little cocktail then, shall we?”

We sat at the ornate bar, Leah toying with the barman, who looked like he’d only turned eighteen about a month ago. “I just hope he doesn’t get fired before you bring her back here,” she said to me under her breath. She could be incorrigible and I watched with a sense of pride as she got the barman to make her a Mai Tai, keeping up a constant stream of chat with him about how she didn’t normally drink at three in the afternoon, but she was on holiday and so it didn’t count. The choice of cocktail was inspired; rum is a no-no for Megan, and she would never normally order something that came with a cocktail cherry.