“Oh?” Sutton poured the wine into the large glasses she favored, the ones without stems, so the bowl sat directly on the table. He didn’t like them—the stem served a purpose, to keep fingers off the bowl, so the heat wouldn’t interfere with the wine’s opening process—but she thought they were fun and had consigned all the traditional Waterford stemware to the attic. At least she’d let him keep the lowballs.

“Out with it, then. What’s this big secret?”

He took a mouthful of the Brunello. He’d opened it especially; had decanted it for an hour. This taste was like heaven. Rich, spicy, bold. Be bold, Ethan. Be very bold.

“It’s ancient history, really. You’ll have a laugh when I tell you.”

She was making stir-fry, with chicken, and the wooden spoon hovered over the wok. He saw a shadow cross her eyes.

“If you’ve had an affair, I don’t want to hear about it. Truly, Ethan, I don’t. After the last time...it nearly broke me.”

“Sutton, no, it’s nothing like that. I swore to you I would never be unfaithful again, and I’ve been true to my word. Never mind. Forget it. I was being silly. I’ll set the table, and we can have dinner. It looks delicious.”

She set the wooden spoon in its pewter holder. Crossed her arms on her chest.

Shit. This wasn’t how he wanted her tonight, defenses up. He wanted them to have a nice, normal evening. Dinner, a lovely wine, maybe a little adult playtime before the baby had to nurse again.

He stepped to her, massaging the back of her neck. Nuzzled for a moment. She let him. She’d been so much more physical since the baby, the whole pregnancy, really. She liked being touched, and not only during sex. It was as if the old Sutton was back, the woman he knew in the beginning, ravenous for the touch of his skin on hers.

She smelled like milk and baby and honeysuckle, a weird combination that managed to be both off-putting and erotic at the same time.

“Taste the wine. Tell me what it reminds you of.”

She shut her eyes, sniffed, took a sip.

“The dinner at the vineyard in Montalcino. The wine tasted like liquid gold. When I told the owner he laughed at me.”

“He didn’t laugh at you, he was delighted, and wanted to change the name of the wine to Sutton’s. I’ve bought a case. That’s my secret. I thought you’d like it for special occasions.”

She opened her eyes. The warmth in them was hard to miss. They shone with pleasure, her beautiful eyes, luminous and wide, the gray blue of late-summer evenings, thickly rimmed in lashes women would pay money for.

“What a lovely surprise. This is a special occasion, I take it? The outing of your secret?”