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"You shouldn't have to interrogate a man to find out whether he has a wife."

She's right, but knowing that doesn't make the pain easier.

Elise reaches for my hand. "Do you love him?"

I stare at her. That's the question I've been avoiding all week because admitting it makes everything worse.

"Yeah," I whisper, looking down at Darcy curled against my leg. "I think I do."

"Oh, honey."

"I know. Three weeks. It's ridiculous."

"Love doesn't always follow a schedule."

I laugh bitterly. "Apparently, neither does adultery."

We spend the rest of the evening eating ice cream and watching terrible television until I finally fall asleep against her shoulder. It's the first decent sleep I've had since the stabbing.

By Monday morning, I've decided I've spent enough time crying over Lorenzo fucking Moretti.

He's married, he's a mobster, and he apparently thinks sending expensive jewelry will fix breaking somebody's heart. I deserve better, even if I have to remind myself of that approximately fourteen times an hour.

I go to work, reshelve books, help an elderly man find the latest mystery from his favorite author, and manage to get through the entire morning without checking my phone.

Progress.

When my lunch break arrives, an unfamiliar number flashes across the screen. I almost ignore it, but then I remember I'm still involved in an investigation concerning a woman I stabbed in my kitchen. Probably shouldn't start avoiding the police.

"Hello?"

"Bridget Collins? This is Detective Daniel Reyes."

I straighten in my chair. "Detective. Hi."

"Sorry to bother you. I have a few additional questions about the break-in at your apartment. Would you have some time to speak with me?"

"Sure. I finish work at five. Would that be okay?"

"That works. I'll stop by the library afterward."

When I hang up, I glance toward the romance display across the room. For the first time all week, somebody is calling who doesn't want to apologize, send me diamonds, or remind me of everything I've lost.

Maybe it's time I stopped waiting for Prince Charming to explain why he turned out to be the villain.

And started figuring out how to get my own damn life back.

CHAPTER TEN

BRIDGET

I've decided there's something seriously wrong with my life when having a handsome detective in my apartment feels less stressful than having a handsome millionaire show up at my library.

At least Detective Daniel Reyes isn't married.

As far as I know, anyway. Apparently, that's something a woman needs to verify these days, preferably with a background check, three character references, and a notarized statement from the man's mother.

Daniel arrived at the library just after five, exactly as we'd arranged, and asked whether I'd mind continuing our conversation at my apartment so he could take another look at the door. I agreed, although returning to the scene of my greatest humiliation isn't exactly how I planned to spend Monday evening.