The silence in the Edinburgh house was becoming more chaotic than I had imagined when we left London. Eric had been scarce lately. Even though we were under the same roof, he felt miles away. He spent nearly every waking hour in his home office, often sleeping on the leather sofa there instead of coming to bed.
He was buried in documents. Every time I passed the door, I heard the frantic clicking of a keyboard or the low tone of his voice on a conference call. I hadn't wanted to pry, but I had gone in once when he wasn't around just to bring him a fresh pot of coffee. What I discovered on his desk made my heart race. He wasn't just working; he was at war. He was suing every single news outlet that had run the falsified story about my past. He was going after the producers who aired that "
