The drive back to Chicago was even colder than the one that had brought us to the Hamptons. Damian was back in his "CEO mode," buried in his laptop and barking orders into his Bluetooth headset. It was as if the fire we had shared in front of the hearth had never happened.
I sat by the window, staring at the grey highway, feeling like a ghost. Every time I looked at his hands—the same hands that had held me so desperately in the dark—I felt a sting of rejection.
"Tonight is the Sterling Gala," Damian said, not looking up from his screen as the city skyline appeared in the distance. "It’s the biggest charity event of the year. Everyone who is anyone will be there."
"I thought we were laying low," I said, my voice sounding hollow.
"The 'disappearance' worked. Now we need to show the worl
