She darted around the kitchen, looking for pans and trays and knives, and then she cleared a small section of the counter. She wanted to make moussaka soup and creamy chicken marsala. She knew the two dishes didn't go together, but they were her two best plates.

She got to work on the soup first, filling a huge pot with oil and browning the tender pieces of lamb. Then she added stock and chopped vegetables and stirred, inhaling the rich steam. As the soup bubbled, she began to work on the chicken marsala. She made the sauce first and then added the mushrooms and extra herbs, tasting it with a small wooden spoon.

​​

Sweat beaded on her forehead, but she continued to work. Once the dishes were nearly finished, she rang for a maid. Sarah appeared with a puzzled look on her face, and Catherine explained how she wanted the dining room arranged. Then she called for the cook and asked him to watch the dishes.

"But don't touch a thing," she insisted.

"The moussaka needs more tomato," he said, already sampling a spoonful.

"I said don't touch anything," she said, but she added another squirt of tomato paste anyway.

She ran upstairs and changed clothes, putting on a simple but elegant black dress tied at the waist. She washed her face with a cold towel, sprayed perfume behind her ears, and piled her hair into another bun. On her way out of the room, she paused in front of the mirror, admiring how small and delicate her waist looked. Then she ran down the stairs and took her place at the dining room table, waiting for Sean.

The door swung open, and Sean stepped into the room. He paused as he took everything in. Sarah had followed her orders exactly—six tall white candlesticks flickered in the center of the table. The place settings were simple—the family's plainest china and crystal.

"What's all this?" Sean asked.

"I wanted to cook dinner for you," she said. "To say thank you for helping me with the Stewarts."

He raised an eyebrow, "It's a bit romantic, isn't it?"

Her cheeks got warm, "The food doesn't look that fancy. I thought the candlelight would make it look better."

Concern flickered on Sean's face, but he took his place at the table. Sarah entered the room, carrying a silver tray with the pot of soup and the pan of chicken marsala. She placed both in the middle of the table, and Catherine thanked her and asked her to leave.

As soon as Sarah was gone, Catherine grabbed the ladle and filled Sean's soup bowl and then her own. She waited for him to take a sip, carefully watching his face. Though she knew it didn't matter, her heart hammered wildly in her chest.

"How is it?" she asked anxiously.

"Not bad," he said, taking a second taste.

She exhaled and tasted it. It wasn't bad at all—though not nearly as complex or fancy as anything Sean's chefs made.

"Are you sure you made it?" Sean asked, taking another taste.

Pride warmed her chest, "Yes. Completely on my own."

"And where did you learn to cook?" he asked.

She shrugged and served him some of the chicken, taking care only to give him a few mushrooms with the sauce. He watched her and took a bite. A smile spread across his face.

"Do you like it?" she asked.

"It's simple," he said. "But it's not bad at all."

He took another bite and then another. Catherine smiled and served herself the smallest piece of chicken with a generous helping of mushrooms. She ate her chicken and soup and offered Sean some more. He accepted, and she heaped a generous portion of food onto his plate.

"It looks like you rather like it," she said.

"I do," he said.

She smiled to herself. The meal was quiet, but the silence didn't feel as tense as before. When Sean finished, she moved to clear the plates away, surprised to see how much food he had eaten. His long fingers closed around her wrist.

"The maid will do it," he said. "Let's go for a walk."

"Where?" she asked.

"The grounds," he replied.

He pulled her chair out and took her hand in his, leading her toward one of the side doors. He pushed it open and tugged her outside, then he released her hand and began to walk. Puzzled, she trailed after him.

The night was lovely and still. The stars sparkled overhead, and crickets chirped all around. The dew had already fallen, and the cool, wet blades of grass tickled her ankles as she walked. A heady, floral scent filled the air, and she rounded a corner to find a massive trellis of night-blooming jasmine. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. When she opened her eyes, she saw Sean waiting for her several yards away.

"Come on," he said. "I want to show you something."

She followed him across the grounds, listening to the night bugs and the gentle breeze in the trees. Finally, they arrived at the pond at the back of the estate. He took her hand again and led her to a small wooden dock that jutted out into the water. He sat, and she copied him.

"Look," he said, pointing at the water.

The still black water glistened like a polished mirror, reflecting the orb-like yellow moon and the twinkling stars. She looked out across the water and then up at the sky. Sean sat beside her, gazing fixedly at the smooth, black water.

"How long have you lived here?" she finally asked.

"About five years," he replied. "When I bought it six years ago, it needed work. It took a while to complete the repairs."

"Oh," she said.

She bit her lip and looked at the water. Six years ago, Sean would have been about her age. Yet he had already purchased his own house and left home.

"Why did you choose it?" she asked.

"I could see life here," he said.

She turned to look at him, surprised by the wistful tone in his voice.

"Besides, it was a good investment," he added, his voice was cool and calm as usual. "It's a nice property and a good old house. With the work I did, the value would only increase."

She sighed.

"Do you like it?" he asked abruptly.

She nodded slowly, "It's a nice place."

"But?" he asked.

She shook her head, "But nothing."

He looked at her as if he didn't believe her, and she hugged her knees to her chest and gazed up at the inky sky. She didn't mind the house, and she liked the grounds, but it didn't matter what she thought. It wasn't her home—and it never would be. Sooner or later, their marriage would end in divorce, and she'd be free to have a home of her own. One where she wasn't followed and spied on and watched.

"You're a difficult woman to read," Sean said, his voice suddenly distant.

"Hmm?" she asked.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

"Just admiring the beauty," she said vaguely.

She felt his eyes on her, but she resisted the urge to look at him. A gust of warm wind rippled across the pond, and she pulled the tie from her bun, letting her hair cascaded down her shoulders. The wind played through her hair, and she closed her eyes and smiled.

"I like you with your hair like that," Sean murmured.

She opened her eyes and found him watching her with a strange expression. He reached out and captured a lock of hair, twirling it between his fingers. He sighed and tucked the strand behind her ear—she shivered as his fingertips brushed the sensitive skin, tracing the delicate outline.

Abruptly, he pulled his hand away and stood, "Let's go."

She climbed to her feet, followed him off the dock, and went back to the house. Once again, he walked in front of her—making no effort to talk. She chewed her lip as she followed behind him, wondering what kind of mood he was in. The moment on the dock had seemed tender, but then he'd grown impatient.