Twenty minutes later, a battered yellow Jeep Wrangler jumped the curb and screeched to a halt in front of the pharmacy. Harley jumped out, wearing paint-splattered overalls and combat boots. She looked like an avenging angel.

She took one look at Carleigh-wet, shivering, holding a bloody handkerchief-and her face crumpled.

"Oh, honey," Harley said. She hauled Carleigh up and practically threw her into the passenger seat. "I'm going to kill him. I'm going to drive this Jeep through his lobby."

The heater in the Jeep was broken, blasting only lukewarm air, but to Carleigh, it felt like heaven. They drove across the bridge to Brooklyn.

Harley's apartment was a converted loft in Bushwick. It smelled of turpentine and linseed oil. Canvases were stacked everywhere. It was messy, chaotic, and safe.

Harley cleaned Carleigh's hand with rubbing alcohol-Carleigh hissed through her teeth-and bandaged it efficiently.

"So," Harley said, handing her a mug of hot tea. "He froze the accounts?"

"Everything. Even the pre-marriage savings."

"That is illegal," Harley said.

"It's Kenton. The law is a suggestion." Carleigh took a sip of tea. "He wants to starve me out. Force me back."

"Well, screw him," Harley said. "You can stay here. The couch is lumpy, but it's free."

"I can't just mooch off you, Harls. You're barely making rent."

"We'll figure it out."

"I already have," Carleigh said. She reached into her waterproof bag and pulled out her laptop. "I need your wifi."

She booted up the computer and logged into a proton mail account.

"What's that?" Harley asked, peering over her shoulder.

"Vee," Carleigh said.

Harley gasped. "You're bringing her back? I thought you swore you wouldn't touch a commission brush again after the wedding."

"I have a standing offer." Carleigh opened an email from The Atelier. "Harvey Freeman wants me for the 'Lost Renaissance' project. He sent this three days ago." She added, "I haven't taken a job in three years, but I never stopped studying. I've been practicing strokes on scrap canvas in the dead of night. The muscle memory is still there."

"Freeman? The god of restoration?" Harley's eyes went wide. "Carleigh, that's huge. That pays six figures just for the consult."

"I replied this morning," Carleigh said. "I have a meeting with him tomorrow at noon. But... I have to go as Vee. No one can know it's me. Especially not Kenton. If he finds out I have income, he'll sue for the breach of contract immediately and garnish my wages."

"So you need a disguise?" Harley grinned.

"I need to be invisible."

Harley's phone rang. It was lying on the table between them. The screen flashed Unknown Number.

Harley picked it up. "Hello?"

"Put her on." Kenton's voice was so loud Carleigh could hear it from the couch.

Harley's eyes narrowed. "Who is this?"

"You know who it is. Tell Carleigh that if she doesn't come home tonight, I'm throwing out her painting supplies. The ones in the attic."

Carleigh felt a pang. Her old brushes. Her mother's easel.

She looked at Harley and shook her head.

Harley smiled a wicked smile. "Go ahead, Ken-doll. Burn them. She doesn't need your trash anymore. Oh, and if you call this number again, I'll file a harassment suit so fast your head will spin."

She hung up and blocked the number.

"He's scared," Harley said. "He's grasping at straws."

Carleigh looked at her bandaged hand. "He should be."

The next morning, Carleigh was standing in Harley's bathroom, trying to make herself look like a professional art restorer using Harley's drugstore makeup, when her own phone rang.

She froze. The screen said Francine Parker.

Kenton's mother.

Carleigh debated not answering. Francine was the only person in the Parker family who had treated her with kindness. But she was also Kenton's mother.

She swiped answer. "Francine?"

"Carleigh, dear." Francine's voice sounded weak, breathless. "Where are you? Kenton said you went to a spa?"

He lied. Of course.

"I... yes. I needed a break."

"Oh." A ragged cough rattled through the phone. "I hate to interrupt your relaxation, darling, but... the doctors. They're worried about my heart again. The arrhythmias."

Carleigh gripped the sink. "Are you okay? Are you in the hospital?"

"No, no. I refused to stay. I'm going to the Hamptons estate for the weekend. To rest. But... I don't want to be alone. I feel... fragile."

"I can come visit," Carleigh said instantly.

"Wonderful. The whole family will be there. You and Kenton. It might be my last family gathering for a while."

The guilt trip was subtle, masterfully executed. Carleigh knew Francine played up her illness to manipulate her children, but she also knew the heart condition was real.

"Francine, I-"

"Please, Carleigh. For me? I just want to see my son and his beautiful wife happy together. Just for one weekend."

Carleigh closed her eyes. She couldn't say no to a dying woman. Even if that woman was the mother of the devil.

"Okay. We'll be there."

She hung up and groaned.

"Let me guess," Harley said from the doorway. "The Matriarch?"

"She wants us in the Hamptons. This weekend."

"Don't go. It's a trap."

"I have to. If she dies and I wasn't there..." Carleigh sighed.

Her phone beeped. A text from Kenton.

Mother called me. She says you're coming. I'll pick you up at noon. Be ready. And wear something that covers that bandage. We are playing happy couple.

Carleigh typed back: I'm doing this for her. Not you.

She quickly emailed Harvey Freeman, rescheduling her interview to Monday due to a "family emergency." Freeman replied instantly: Talent waits for no one, Vee, but for you, I will make an exception. Monday.

At noon, the Maybach pulled up. Carleigh walked out wearing a long-sleeved cream dress that hid her bandage. She got into the back seat.

Kenton was there. He looked tired. There were dark circles under his eyes. He looked at her, his gaze sweeping over her dress, lingering on her face.

"You look..." He stopped himself. "Acceptable."

Carleigh sat as far away from him as the leather seat allowed. "Don't speak to me unless Francine is in the room."

"Fine by me," Kenton muttered.

The car pulled away, heading toward the highway. The silence in the car was heavier than lead.

The partition was up. They were alone in the back of the car.

Kenton opened the small bar and poured a scotch. He didn't offer her one. He downed half of it in one swallow.

"Withdraw the petition," he said. He didn't look at her.

"No."

"Carleigh, be reasonable. Mother is sick. If she finds out we're divorcing, it could kill her."

"Then maybe you shouldn't have given me a reason to divorce you." Carleigh looked out the window at the passing autumn foliage.

"I told you, Blanca is a friend. She has no one else."

"She has an agent. She has fans. She has a family in Ohio. She doesn't need my husband holding her hand at midnight."

Kenton slammed the glass down into the holder. "You are obsessed with her."

"I'm obsessed with dignity, Kenton. Something you clearly lack."

He turned his body toward her. "You think you can survive out there? You think your little 'secretary skills' will pay for your lifestyle?"

"Watch me."

"And the ED clause? You're going to humiliate me in court?"

"If you push me."

Kenton lunged. It was sudden. He crossed the space between them and grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. His face was inches from hers. She could smell the scotch and his expensive cologne-sandalwood and musk.

"You are playing a dangerous game," he whispered. His thumb brushed her lower lip.

Her heart raced. Not from fear, but from a sudden, sharp jolt of electricity. His eyes dropped to her lips. For a second, she thought he was going to kiss her.

"Get off me," she whispered.

He stared at her for a beat longer, his pupils blown wide. Then he released her and sat back, adjusting his tie. He looked shaken.

The car slowed down. Gravel crunched under the tires. They were passing through the iron gates of the Parker Estate.

"Smile," Kenton said, his voice strained. "Showtime."

They stepped out. Francine was waiting on the porch, wrapped in a blanket, sitting in a wheelchair. She looked pale but her eyes were sharp.

"There they are!" Francine cried out.

Carleigh forced a smile and walked up the steps. She bent down and hugged Francine. "Hi, Mom."

"You look thin, Carleigh. Is he feeding you?" Francine glared at Kenton over Carleigh's shoulder.

"She's on a diet," Kenton lied smoothly, coming up to kiss his mother's cheek.

"Hmph." Francine patted Carleigh's hand. "Well, I'm glad you're here. The house feels so big. I've put you in the East Wing master suite. The guest rooms are being... renovated."

Carleigh froze. "Renovated?"

"Yes. Dust everywhere. So you'll have to share the big room." Francine smiled innocently. "I assume that's not a problem for a married couple?"

Kenton and Carleigh exchanged a look of pure horror.

"Not a problem at all," Kenton choked out.