Gabe left it there, didn’t push the subject any further. They walked without talking until Nat took the opportunity to shift the conversation. “I need to explain. About Violet.”

“You don’t need to explain,” he said, still lawyerly. “Just promise me you won’t see her again.”

“I promise,” Nat said. “If that’s what it takes for us to get back together.”

“It does.”

They were the words she’d been pining for, the assurance she’d craved. But the delivery was monotone, perfunctory. It set her nerves on edge.

“So we’re getting back together?” she clarified, glancing over at him as they moved steadily forward.

“Yes,” he said, eyes concealed behind the reflective glasses. “But I have to go away for a while.”

“Where are you going?”

“To France. For business.”

“I could come?” she bravely suggested. “I’m not working right now. I’ve never been to France. Or anywhere in Europe.”

“I’d love that,” he said, and he almost sounded genuine. Almost. “But I’ll be working all the time. And Celeste’s sister and brother-in-law live there. They’ll want to spend time with me, so you’d be left on your own.”

“But I’ll be left on my own here,” she said, her voice tinged with annoyance. “I want to be with you.”

“And you will be,” he said. “When I get back.”

They’d reached the end of the High Line by then, and Nat was relieved. The vodka was wearing off, leaving her feeling antsy and wound-up. Gabe had promised a drink after their walk. She was sure more alcohol would ease the tension, smooth things over. They walked down the sloping ramp in heavy silence, continued along Thirty-Fourth Street.

“Shall we get a drink somewhere?” she suggested, glancing over at him. She wanted to sit facing him, wanted him to remove his glasses. He wouldn’t be so glib with her then, when there was eye contact.

“I wish I could,” he said, moving past the Hudson Yards subway station, “but I’ve got an early flight tomorrow. I have to pack.”

“A quick one then? Or I could come to your place and help you get ready.”

“I don’t think so.”

He was blowing her off, trying to get rid of her. She stopped walking.

“What’s going on, Gabe?”

“Nothing.” He gave her arm a conciliatory squeeze, but it felt cool, impersonal. “When I get back from my trip, we’ll be together.”

“But you can’t give me an hour of your time now?”

She saw the tension in his jaw, and she knew his eyes, behind his glasses, would be like ice. “This is an important business trip and I need to focus,” he said, condescension dripping from his voice. “You know my business and my family come first. That hasn’t changed.”

Suddenly, it became clear. He wasn’t reconciling with her; he was buying time. There was no business trip to France. Gabe just wanted a couple of weeks to strategize a way to tell Celeste and Violet about the affair. Or, more likely, he’d make up a story, label Nat a crazy, obsessive stalker, portray himself as completely innocent. He might cop to a one-night stand gone wrong, might even admit to the financial arrangement, lamenting his lonely life in the city. But he would convince his wife and daughter that he was the victim, that Natalie was dangerous, the enemy. And maybe she was?