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“Can I ask how you met Rafael?”
Sasha leaped on telling that story, painting a full picture of how gorgeous he’d been in his tuxedo, how he’d asked her to dance and she’d felt as though she was in a dream.
“All under the nose of some knob my parents wanted me to marry.”
Molly lifted an amused look from her poached egg and smoked salmon on a toasted crostini. She was so refreshing. Molly didn’t fuss around with diets or hair color or push-up bras. Her mother had taught her that if a man didn’t love you as you were, then he didn’t love you.
Sasha had always envied her that confidence in her own self-worth.
She finished out the story with the secret elopement and dramatic announcement over brunch. She almost added, Libby’s father was there, but she shied away from that part of it. It had been enough to throw her new husband in his face.
“It sounds like love at first sight,” Molly said with a wistful smile.
Sasha’s cup hit her saucer with a loud clank.
“We agreed from the beginning that we were using each other to some extent. In a practical way, I mean. Not coldhearted. Our feelings have grown over time.” It wasn’t dishonest to say that, but she didn’t want to admit to anyone, including herself, how uneven the emotional investment was between herself and her husband. “Rafael indulges me, which I can’t say I hate.” Even if she wished his “darlings” and other endearments were more sincere. “He’s caring and supportive.” In his way.
It’s not helpful to blame yourself.
“We have each other’s respect, which is more than I expected to have with any man.” Mostly. She recalled his assertion of control this morning and grew pensive, then insisted brightly, “The sex is fantastic.” She offered a wicked grin, ignoring the ache of loneliness that had been sitting like a block of ice in her middle for the longest time.
“I’m happy for you, Sash.” Molly wasn’t exactly gushing, though. She was trying to peer past the veneer of nonchalance that Sasha wore.
“What about you?” Sasha turned the tables. “Anyone special in your life?”
“No.” Molly’s cheeks went pink as she reached for her coffee. “I’m focused on my career.”
“You mean your boss?” Sasha teased.
“Oh, my God. Please tell me it’s not obvious?” she begged with mortification.
“I was almost catatonic with shock yesterday, but I could still tell there was something between you. Are you seeing him?”
“God no! He doesn’t even know I’m alive.”
Sasha’s radar had picked up something else, but she kept it to herself. She knew how people at Gio’s level operated. A few short years ago, he had nearly married a woman who had noble roots, a vineyard in Tuscany, and a château in the south of France. Molly was far more special than any of those things, but a rich prat like Gio might be oblivious to it and see only a pretty woman with a crush that he could use for his own ends.
“I can’t help being attracted to him,” Molly confided with a cringe of helplessness. “You saw him.”
“I only have eyes for my husband,” Sasha insisted, but she wasn’t dead. Gio Casella was definitely a looker. “Promise me you won’t let him play you like a flute.”
“Don’t worry. It’s never going to happen. I wouldn’t know what to do if it did. I can’t imagine being involved with someone who lives like this.” Molly glanced around. “I’m glad you’re happy, though.”
Me, too, Sasha tried to say, but had to bite her lip because it was starting to quiver. The raw, septic wound in her heart burst open and the words flowed out.
“I can’t get pregnant.”
“What?” Molly sat up straighter, then reached across to squeeze her hand. “It can take a long time for some people, Sash. Don’t lose hope. Do you want to call Mom? She might be able to help.” She looked for her phone.
“It’s been a year and a half.” Which was nothing. She knew there were people who tried for a decade before they saw results, but Rafael had insisted they take a break and that terrified her. If she couldn’t give him a baby, would he still want her?
“I’m seeing specialists and we’ve tried IVF three times.” Sasha picked up the damp cloth to press it against the salty tears beginning to burn the edges of her eyelids again. “We both want a baby, but my body won’t work and it’s so unfair, Moll. I did this once before. I should be able to do it again.” The resentment was rising like a tide, pushing the tears into her eyes and nose and throat. “And I keep thinking it’s my fault that—”
“No. Sasha, no.” Molly reached to crush her hand in her two warm ones. “Talk to Mom. She’ll tell you there are a thousand reasons a woman might have trouble conceiving. None of them are your fault. But you also know that if you want to be in Libby’s life, we would love for you—”
“No. Molly.” She snatched her hand away and shifted sideways in her chair, clutching where her chest was still cleaved in half by that long-ago loss. “Rafael wants an heir of his own. Not... I mean, we’ve talked a little about adoption, but he’s adopted. I can tell there’s a part of him that wants a blood connection, you know? I want that, too. I want our baby and I’m so angry with myself that I can’t give him this.”
“Is he angry?” Molly’s voice hardened. “Is he putting pressure on you?”
