“They might not want it, but they’ll need you to.”

Now that straightened her spine. “Are you threatening me?”

He looked horrified. “Of course not. Rosalina, I messed up. I did. But can you allow me one screw up? I’ve never done anything like this before. We’ve been friends our whole lives, we will be happy together.” He brought his hands to the sides of his head, scraping his fingers through the short strands of hair. “What have I done?”

“Do you love her?”

His attention snapped to her. “No. I mean, I know that’s not what it looks like, but I don’t love her the way I love you.”

“Yes, I got that. Which, of course, is the whole problem.” The jar had gone warm in her hand. “Look, I need you to do something for me.” She handed it to him. “I’ve finally got it, the formula for the body lotion. I need you to convince your father that expanding our product line will—”

“You’re talking to me about business? That’s what you want to discuss right now?”

“Well, we could talk about what a two-faced liar you are, but that doesn’t seem all that productive.”

“I deserved that, but don’t you think it’s sad that in our worst moment you want to talk about your lotion?”

“No, what’s sad is that for all these months, you didn’t do anything. If you were unhappy, if you were developing feelings for another woman, you could’ve done something for us. Plan a getaway…surprise me at school…take me up against the wall.” Something stirred to life inside her, a long dormant curl of desire, like steam rising from a tea cup. “Instead, you turned to another woman.”

She left the room in a haze. There was too much happening inside her body to separate each individual strand of emotion. Marcel’s betrayal had her reeling, but Fabiana’s words terrified her.

Because they were true.

I’m twenty-five years old, and I’ve never felt passion.

She’d had crushes, of course, but she’d shut them down—simply by changing her patterns. She’d sit in a different section of the lecture hall or go to a different café or bar with her friends.

“Rosalina,” he called. “We’ll work through this. In the meantime, we’ve got to be seen as a happy couple. The vote’s six weeks away.”

Right then, she got a flash of her wedding gown. The famous designer lived, of all places, in a cowboy town in Wyoming. “I think you know me better than that. I wear my emotions on my sleeve. There’s no way I can act like I’m in love with you.”

She’d seen images of the place and had found it charming. Iron hitching posts, strapping men in dusty jeans, pickup trucks, and lassos.

And right then she made a decision.