In the morning, after an unsettled night, Connie woke to find Devan’s side of the bed empty. It was just after seven and he usually slept much later. Rolling onto her side, she pulled the duvet around her ears and closed her eyes, not wanting to face the day.

But only a couple of minutes later, the bedroom door banged open and Riley bounced in, followed immediately by Devan, carrying a tray upon which were two croissants, a ramekin of strawberry jam, white paper napkins, white china mugs and a cafetière of coffee. An envelope was propped between the two mugs.

Dragging herself into a sitting position against the wooden headboard, Connie gave a puzzled frown as he set the tray alongside her on the bed.

Standing with arms crossed and a big grin on his face, Devan said, ‘Happy anniversary!’

Oh, shit, Connie thought. She had never, in all the years of their marriage, neglected to mark their anniversary. She tried to bring a smile to her face, when all she felt was dismay. Devan’s expression had fallen. He obviously hadn’t even considered she might have forgotten. But that must have been what his strange look had implied, the previous night, when he suggested they go out for supper and she’d responded so casually.

She smiled up at him, contrite. ‘This is gorgeous! Thank you, Devan.’ He perched on the bed as she opened her card. The outside was a bunch of beautifully hand-painted poppies. Inside the message said simply, ‘I love you so much, Connie, xxx’.

She felt tears spring to her eyes and a wash of fatigue at the unstoppable guilt that plagued her. ‘I love you too,’ she said. And this time it was heartfelt.

Devan leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the lips. ‘You forgot, right?’

Connie gave him a sheepish grin. ‘I’m so sorry … I never, ever have before. You should have said something.’

He poured some coffee into one of the mugs, handed it to her. ‘Don’t apologize. With the way things have been …’

‘That’s for you,’ Devan said, pointing at a square package lying on the counter, when Connie arrived in the kitchen. It had been a lovely breakfast, both of them propped up in bed, sipping coffee and strewing croissant flakes over the sheets, laughing about it. She’d had the first moment of peace since that night in Lake Como and Jared’s kiss.

Connie raised her eyebrows. ‘A present as well?’

He shook his head as he washed out the coffee grains from the cafetière. ‘Not from me, I’m afraid.’

She picked it up. It was light. Pulling open the cardboard box, she was confronted with bubble wrap, which finally revealed a small snow-globe. Peering at it, she recognized the Royal Palace and the Sigismund Column in Warsaw.