CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
SO DAMN HOT
For the better part of the last two months, I had convinced myself that the most dramatic, life-altering thing that could possibly happen to me had already happened. My husband cheated, shattered everything I thought we had built, and left me standing in the wreckage of a marriage I had believed was untouchable. That, I had assumed, was the peak of chaos.
Clearly, I had underestimated life.
Because now I am standing in my own garden, a glass of ridiculously expensive wine in my hand-the same one Mark insisted on buying by the case during our trip to France last spring-watching everything unravel in a completely different way. He had nearly bought me a vineyard that day after I casually mentioned how much I loved the place, as though grand gestures could
