Arabella's POV
Three years later, I woke up to the sound of the sea and the smell of something burning.
The sea was expected—the cottage was fifty yards from the cliffs, and the waves had been our constant soundtrack since we'd moved here permanently. The burning was not.
"Damian!" I was out of bed and down the stairs before my eyes were fully open. "Damian, if you're trying to cook again—"
I stopped in the kitchen doorway.
My husband—the billionaire titan of industry, the man who'd once commanded boardrooms and bent entire markets to his will—was standing at the stove, wearing an apron that said Kiss the Cook, staring at a smoking pan with an expression of profound betrayal.
"Eggs are harder than they look," he said.
"Eggs are the easiest thing in the world to cook."
"Then you sh
