There are three kinds of knocks.
The friendly kind.
The expected kind.
And the kind that makes your stomach tighten before you even reach the door.
This was definitely the third.
I glanced at the clock.
Ten-thirty on a Tuesday morning.
Ethan had left for work over an hour ago, apologizing with one of his now-famous handwritten notes tucked beside my coffee mug.
Board meeting. Don't skip lunch. I'll make it up to you tonight.
—E.
It wasn't much.
But it was enough to make me smile.
At least... it had been.
I opened the door.
Standing there was a woman who looked like she'd stepped out of a luxury fashion campaign.
Tall.
Elegant.
Long platinum-blonde hair that fell in perfect waves over the shoulders of an ivory designer coat.
Diamond earrings caught the morning light.
Her lipstick was flawless.
Her smile wasn't.
"You must be Grace."
Her voice was smooth as silk.
"I am."
She extended a perfectly manicured hand.
"I'm Veronica."
Of course she was.
I looked at her hand for a second before shaking it.
"To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Oh." She smiled sweetly. "I was in the neighborhood."
I almost laughed.
People like Veronica Langford weren't ever "in the neighborhood."
They arrived with purpose.
"I thought I'd finally meet the woman everyone is talking about."
"I don't remember sending you an invitation."
"No."
She looked past my shoulder into the penthouse.
"But you did answer the door."
Touché.
I should have closed it.
Instead, some stubborn, irrational part of me refused to give her the satisfaction of thinking I was intimidated.
"Would you like some coffee?"
Her perfectly sculpted eyebrow lifted.
"You'd invite your husband's ex-fiancée inside?"
"I'd rather know what game you're playing than guess from behind a closed door."
For the first time, her smile became genuine.
"I like you."
"I somehow doubt that."
---
Five minutes later she was sitting in Ethan's living room.
Our living room.
I corrected myself.
She crossed her legs gracefully while accepting the espresso I'd made.
She looked around slowly.
"You've changed the place."
"I've lived here."
"It used to feel..."
"Cold?"
She laughed softly.
"I was going to say expensive."
"I was going to say lonely."
Her eyes found mine.
"Touche."
Silence settled between us.
Not comfortable silence.
The kind that waited patiently for someone to draw first blood.
Veronica won.
"So."
She stirred her coffee.
"How's married life?"
I smiled politely.
"It depends on the day."
"I imagine."
She tilted her head.
"Ethan has never been easy."
The familiarity in her voice irritated me more than I cared to admit.
"You sound like an expert."
"I was."
Her confidence didn't waver.
"We were together for three years."
"I know."
"I know things about him no one else does."
There it was.
The warning.
Wrapped in perfume and designer clothing.
I leaned back.
"I'm sure you do."
She studied me carefully.
"You don't seem threatened."
"I'm pregnant."
I smiled.
"Morning sickness is far scarier than ex-fiancées."
She laughed.
Actually laughed.
"I can see why Harper likes you."
That surprised me.
"You've spoken to Harper?"
"We were close once."
Past tense.
Interesting.
---
Veronica stood and wandered toward the nursery.
Without asking.
I followed immediately.
She paused in the doorway.
The pale blue walls.
The white crib.
The stuffed fox.
The rocking chair.
Everything Ethan and I had created together.
"It's beautiful."
Her voice was unexpectedly quiet.
I didn't answer.
She ran one finger lightly along the edge of the dresser.
"Ethan never talked about children."
"He does now."
"He told you that?"
"He shows me."
Her expression changed.
Just for a second.
Something flickered behind her carefully maintained confidence.
Regret.
Then it disappeared.
"He always wanted everything under control."
"So I've noticed."
"He hates surprises."
I rested my hand on my belly.
"This one turned out to be the best surprise either of us ever had."
She looked directly at me.
"Do you love him?"
The question caught me off guard.
My mouth opened.
Closed.
Finally...
"That's none of your business."
She smiled sadly.
"That's not a no."
---
"I loved him once."
The confession came so unexpectedly that I almost missed it.
"He loved me too."
I remained silent.
"But loving Ethan Blackwood..."
She looked around the nursery.
"...means loving someone who doesn't know how to believe he'll be loved back."
I frowned.
"Then why did you leave him?"
For the first time since she'd arrived...
Veronica looked uncomfortable.
"I thought he'd choose me over the company."
She gave a humorless laugh.
"I was young enough to make people choose."
"And?"
"He couldn't."
There was genuine pain in her eyes now.
"So I left before he could."
The room grew very quiet.
I'd expected arrogance.
Possessiveness.
Schemes.
I hadn't expected honesty.
Not from her.
She straightened her coat.
"I should go."
"That's it?"
She nodded.
"I didn't come here to steal your husband."
"Then why did you come?"
She looked at me for a long moment.
"To see if the tabloids were lying."
"Were they?"
A small smile touched her lips.
"No."
She glanced around the nursery one last time.
"They actually understated it."
"What do you mean?"
She looked me straight in the eyes.
"The way Ethan looks at you..."
A pause.
"...he never looked at me like that."
Before I could respond, she walked toward the front door.
She stopped with her hand on the handle.
"Oh."
She looked back over her shoulder.
"If I were you..."
"...I'd be less worried about me."
My stomach tightened.
"What does that mean?"
Her expression hardened.
"It means Victoria Blackwood never loses gracefully."
The door clicked shut behind her.
Leaving me alone.
With more questions than answers.
And the unsettling feeling that Veronica wasn't the biggest threat to my marriage after all.