"You're packing a suitcase," Maya said from the doorway. "You're actually packing a suitcase."
"I'm aware of what I'm doing."
"You're moving in with a man you married by accident four days ago."
"It's in the contract."
Maya sat down on my bed and watched me fold a sweater with the expression of someone watching a person walk slowly toward a cliff. She had been making that face since I told her about the Times piece — three days ago, before Dominic's PR team got involved and the story softened into something vague and unconfirmed.
It hadn't been specific enough to damage us. Just enough to create noise. A question without an answer.
Now there was just the packing.
"Your mother called me," Maya said.
I stopped folding the sweater. "When?"
"This morning. She wants to know when she's
