"It's on the way to being what it once was," I said, distractedly, glancing ahead at Kira as we approached the house. She turned back quickly, seeming to consider something before she went inside.

She kissed Harley on his cheek and squeezed his hand. "I'm so glad to see you looking so well," she said, sounding like she was going to cry. I frowned, but she didn't glance my way and didn't wait for Harley to answer. She turned and disappeared inside the house, leaving me to stare at the empty place where she'd just been.

"Grayson," Shane said, approaching me, "after you get cleaned up and get a chance to chat with Harley and Priscilla, we should talk." Vanessa stood behind him, nervously biting her lip. God, that was right. I'd blurted out that Kira and I had a marriage of convenience for money. And now I needed to explain. Only, how could I begin to do that when I barely understood the situation myself anymore? It had seemed clear-cut once upon a time . . . Now, it was about as sticky and sludgy as I currently was.

"Sure," I mumbled, heading inside. "Charlotte, will you get Harley and Priscilla something to eat and drink? I'll be downstairs shortly."

"Of course," Charlotte said, leading them both toward the kitchen.

I tried the door to the room Kira was staying in, but she had locked it and when I knocked, she didn't answer. She was probably in the shower. I'd shower, too, and then come back. I needed to talk to her first and foremost. We had unfinished business. And I wanted to make sure she was okay. I wanted to make sure we were okay.

I showered, balling my sticky clothes into a heap and wrapping them in a towel to bring to the laundry room. God, what in the hell had come over us? What was that? After dressing in clean jeans and a T-shirt, I walked barefoot to Kira's room and knocked on the door again. When there was still no answer, I tried the doorknob and found it unlocked. Had she already gone downstairs? I peeked inside the room and noticed immediately that her suitcase was gone. Panic swirled in my gut and I entered the room, calling her name. The closet was open, but there was nothing inside except for a few garment bags that held some of my stepmother's old clothes. I spotted the note on the dresser as I turned to leave, the ring I'd given to Kira for the sake of our ceremony—the one she'd been wearing ever since our first dinner date—sitting on top. The light caught the diamonds as I lifted it. What had I been thinking giving her this ring? I wasn't sure I wanted to read the note.

Grayson,

I think it's obvious after today we require some space from one another—and you need time to work things out with Shane and Vanessa without me in the way. I'll be at the party next week to perform my final act as your wife, and then I'll be moving out for good.

Kira

P.S. I think this ring belongs to Vanessa, not to me. Not that it ever really did.

I dropped the piece of paper, a lump forming in my throat, coldness creeping up my spine. She said she wanted me and then she left. I turned and descended the stairs, the ice moving swiftly up my spine to fill my chest and surround my heart. I took comfort in the frigid feeling. It was what I knew, what I deserved, and how I would survive the hurt.

Following the voices to the kitchen, I joined Harley, Priscilla, and Charlotte at the table. Charlotte started to cut me a piece of her sour cream coffee cake, but I held up my hand, declining her silent offer. She frowned.

"Harley was telling me how you saved his life." Charlotte studied me, a look of both tenderness and sadness in her expression.

I ran my hand through my hair. I'd never spoken to anyone about my time in prison. I wasn’t necessarily willing to now, but I also couldn't exactly throw Harley out. I owed him so much. He'd been there with me—he'd lived it. "More like he saved mine," I said.

"Naw, that's not the way I remember it," he said, leaning back and lacing his fingers behind his bald head.

"I did one thing just by luck—you had my back for the next five years," I said, something catching in my throat. "If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have survived that place." And it was true. When we'd first arrived, I'd been in shock, numb with disbelief that I'd been sentenced to a five-year term after my lawyer had assured me I'd get community service at best, six months at worst. I'd been in the yard with Harley—who I didn't even know at the time—when something shiny had caught my eye. Instinctively, I'd pushed him away and it'd given him time to turn and disarm the man who otherwise would have gutted him with the makeshift knife. From that day forward, Harley—who had done several prison stints and understood how the system worked with inside connections—had protected me from any number of horrors I might have experienced had it not been for him.

"Well, you're family then," Charlotte said before she looked away, her eyes bright with what looked like unshed tears.

Harley nodded at Charlotte, giving her a warm smile before he looked back to me. "And now," he said, leaning forward, "to come here and find you married to Kira Dallaire. Life is full of surprises."

I made a small sound of agreement in my throat, deciding not to mention the circumstances of our marriage or the fact that it'd be over soon anyway.

Harley was eyeing me in that way of his. Harley might look big and mean, but he was about the best judge of people I'd ever known. He'd told me it was necessary growing up on the streets of San Francisco—it was either anticipate a person's next move, or become their victim. "Can I tell you a story about Kira?" he asked.