No Longer the Don's Bride

On our fourth anniversary, my boyfriend, the Don, took my sister and me to an exclusive private restaurant.

The restaurant manager bowed. “The usual private dining room?”

The room had already been scented with Rosalie’s favorite white tea.

Her steak medium-rare, no truffle in the sauce.

The first oyster went to Rosalie. So did the last.

I was given an extra chair by the door, without even a menu.

After dessert, the manager opened a cellar ledger.

“Today marks three years since you opened a cellar account with Miss Sinclair. Your commemorative case is ready.”