Prologue
Abby pulled the cast-iron pan out of the oven and set it on top of the stove. She stabbed the beef tenderloin with the digital thermometer and waited for the reading. 145 degrees. Perfect. By the time Tony got home, it would be done resting and be a beautiful medium rare. The salad was in the fridge, the vinaigrette blended, the couscous cooked, and the fresh green beans were ready to go into the steamer pot.
At 5:45, she threw the beans into the pot, then lit the candles on the dining room table. “Alexa, play dinner playlist.”
Soft easy listening music came from the recessed speakers Tony had installed when he’d built the house. She’d always thought they were excessive, but Tony had only listened to her input about the kitchen.
She transferred the beans and couscous to covered serving dishes, grabbed the salad from the fridge, and placed everything on the table, already set with the good china.
Her stomach fluttered and she placed her hand low on her abdomen. Was it nerves about telling Tony or the little bean she’d learned about that morning? She glanced at her watch and returned to the kitchen to slice the meat. After transferring it to a serving platter, she placed it in front of Tony’s place setting. All that was left to do was wait for him to come home.
Forty minutes later, the candles were dripping wax onto the crystal holders. She checked to see if there were any text messages, despite the lack of notifications or previous messages. His lack of communication had been happening more frequently over the past few months. Was it really that hard to tell her he’d be a few minutes late? Abby blinked and looked up, pressing her ring finger to the inner corner of her eye. It didn’t mean anything. He’d been working to close a big account at work—he’d told her that.
The alarm panel beeped three times. “Garage door open.”
Abby stood and plastered a smile on her face.
“Hi,” she said when he entered the dining room.
“What’s all this?” He pulled at his tie to loosen it.
“Dinner. Beef tenderloin, green beans, and Israeli couscous.”
“I had dinner with a client.”
“Oh.” Would it have been so hard to send her a text?
He picked up a green bean and took a bite. “It’s cold anyway.” He threw the rest of the bean onto a plate.
“I had it ready for six, when you’re usually home.”
“I had to work. Someone has to pay for this house.”
A spark of anger flashed through her, and she tamped it down. She hadn’t asked for the house. It was too big. Too ostentatious. There were rooms she only went into to clean.
“It’s fine. I’ll pack it for your lunch tomorrow.”
“Don’t bother—I have a working lunch.”
Gritting her teeth, she took a deep breath. “I have something else for you.”
She picked up the long, thin box she’d set next to his place setting and held it out to him.
“Fuck.” He took the box. “Is it our anniversary?”
She blinked. “No. That’s in four months.”
“Then what’s this?”
“Open it.”
She held her breath as he lifted the lid. He didn’t speak for several heartbeats, just stared at the plastic stick with the digital display that read “Pregnant.”
He finally looked at her. “Is this a joke?”
Her stomach plummeted. “No. It’s real. I found out this morning.”
“Did you do this on purpose?”
