I woke up alone.
The big guest bed was too soft and too white and too cold. Sunlight was pouring through the huge glass windows that showed all of Central Park far below, green and gold in the early morning. My head was on a pillow that smelled like expensive laundry detergent, not like my small apartment in Queens that always smelled like fabric and cooking oil.
For one second, I forgot where I was. Then I remembered everything.
The dirty floor on Lexington Avenue. The fake signature. The contract. The Love Clause. The makeover. Mrs. Laurent shouting NO. Adrian shirtless in my doorway. His arms around me while I cried into his bare chest. His heartbeat under my ear.
I sat up quickly, pulling the silk sheet up. My heart was beating fast.
The armchair where Adrian sat last night was em
