Chapter 2

Sebastian didn't come home until after midnight.

The foyer light blinked on as I was sorting files in the study.

He tossed his jacket on the sofa and glanced at the empty dining table.

"You didn't leave me anything to eat?"

I didn't look up. "No."

He seemed surprised. Before tonight, no matter how badly we'd fought, I always left a lamp on and a plate warm.

He stood there a moment, then walked over and rapped his knuckles on the desk.

"Still angry?"

"No."

"Good."

He exhaled, almost relieved, and sat down across from me.

"What Mother said tonight came out wrong, but she was thinking of our future. And Delilah's ring—it was a bonus routed through the company. It's a totally different category."

I looked at him. "Mm."

Sebastian paused. "Nothing else?"

"What would you like me to say?"

That stopped him. After a moment, his brow tightened.

"Ivy, this passive-aggressive thing isn't cute."

I almost laughed.

I hadn't shouted. I hadn't cried. I hadn't even mentioned the ring again. But the moment I stopped smoothing his path for him, I became passive-aggressive.

My phone lit up on the desk. The Paris contract had come through.

I dimmed the screen with my palm. Sebastian didn't notice.

He reached into his pocket and slid a small box across the table.

"Enough. Stop pouting."

I opened it.

Inside was the three-thousand-dollar platinum band I'd originally chosen.

"I had someone go back and get it."

He leaned into his chair, visibly satisfied with himself.

"This was the one you wanted, wasn't it? I'll have the officiant redo a small ring ceremony tomorrow."

I looked at it for a few seconds, then pushed the box back.

"That's all right."

His brow snapped tight. "Now what?"

"I don't want it anymore."

He stared, trying to read the sulk on my face. Failing that, he decided I still needed time to cool off.

"Suit yourself."

Before standing, he seemed to remember something.

"By the way—the south-facing studio in the apartment. Clear it out."

I looked up. "Why?"

"Delilah's launching a new collection. Her office is being renovated. She needs somewhere to keep her samples for a month."

He said it as if it were self-evident.

"You just sketch anyway. You can work anywhere."

I was quiet for two seconds.

"Fine."

Now it was his turn to freeze.

"You agree?"

"Mm."

I even took the apartment key off my ring and set it on the table.

"Tell her to pick it up directly tomorrow."

He was clearly pleased. He reached out and rumpled my hair.

"That's my girl."

I turned my head aside.

He didn't notice—he was already replying to Delilah's texts.

First thing in the morning, I had my assistant move every one of my design boards, samples, and personal effects out of the apartment and into my studio.

At noon, Sebastian texted.

Mother wants us for dinner tonight.

I sent back two words.

Can't. Working.

The phone rang immediately.

"Still angry?"

"I have work."

"Since when is work more important than dinner?"

I held the Paris contract in my hand. My voice was flat.

"Since today."

Silence. Then a soft, disbelieving laugh.

"Fine. You go be busy. We'll talk when you're done with your tantrum."

I didn't correct him.

Someone who has already decided to leave doesn't owe the other person a translation of her silence.