The voice of the man hidden in a closet with his mistress wore rumpled clothing, had several days growth, and showed up late to work hungover. She’d never met this man.

Her palm pressed against the cool wall. Nothing made sense. She’d become a piece dropped into the wrong puzzle.

“Marrying her won’t flip some kind of switch,” Fabiana said. “You’ve never been so crazy for her that you took her up against the wall or…or threw her down on the bed and ripped off her clothes. All the things you talk about with me…? You’re not going to suddenly want to do them with her just because you’ve exchanged vows.”

The man she’d known her whole life, the only man she’d ever been with…

He doesn’t love me?

She felt so small, so…insubstantial.

So sick.

“Fabi, stop. God, just stop.”

“No, I won’t stop. The wedding planner is here. We have to talk about it right now, before things go too far and you can’t undo them.”

Rosalina pressed her hot cheek against the stone wall. She felt dizzy, disoriented. How had she not seen this? She’d hired Fabiana during her first year at university, because she hadn’t been able to keep up with her duties as well as her studies as a chemistry major at the Sorbonne. Over these seven years, they’d become good friends.

Or so she’d thought.

The truth hit her bloodstream like ice water. This entire time, her closest friends had been lying to her.

Her stomach lurched, twisted, and she thought her knees might give out.

“Listen to me, Fabi. I do love her. I’ve always loved her.”

“You’re a passionate man. You need more than she can give you. What will happen a year from now? Two? Ten? When she’s involved in raising children and her lab work, when there’s no time for you. Will you find someone else to pull into closets and send desperate text messages to?”

Every word struck her heart like a mallet, smashing it to a pulp.

He doesn’t love me.

He’d never spoken to Rosalina as though the possibility of losing her felt like his soul was being ripped out of his body.

Shame spread in a rush. All of their intimate moments were a lie. He’d been making love to her, while imagining Fabiana.

“We can’t discuss this here,” he said. “We’re at work. Someone will hear us.”

“For God’s sake, we have to tell her before they announce the wedding date.”

“Would you just stop? Stop touching me. You’re turning me inside out. I can’t call it off. I’m marrying her. I want to marry her.”