Lucas
We had barely dropped our luggage when the fight started.
The dining room of our Manhattan villa with its white marble floors, gold accents and floor-to-ceiling windows, felt too bright, too open for the argument rising between us.
I slammed my palm on the table. “We just got back from Bora Bora, Cynthia. Where we celebrated ten years of marriage, and you want to fly out to Paris tonight? Don’t you ever get tired?”
She scoffed, tossing her hair back like she was posing for a camera.
“Tired of what, Lucas? Paris? Fashion shows? My life? This has always been me. Why are you fussing about it now?”
I leaned forward. “You’re not modelling anymore, Cynthia. Don’t give me that line.”
“I may not be on the runway again, but I’m still very active in the fashion world.” She folded her a
