“We used to do a lot more.” Jemima held her teacup of coffee on her knee. “But since the children, I prefer to stay in one place for longer periods and Vincent doesn’t seem to mind traveling alone when needed.”

The Anahera who’d sat next to her grinning husband in that darkened theater wouldn’t have caught the bitterness hidden beneath the unexceptional words. But to the Anahera who’d helped her husband’s distraught mistress from his graveside, the acrid taste was as familiar as the knot of anger and resentment and grief in her own chest.

Jemima knew.

43

The question was if she knew only that Vincent had been unfaithful, or if she had the name of the woman who’d become a silent third party in their marriage.

Anahera liked Jemima, but Miriama also had a call on her loyalty.

And the time for lies and rumors was over.

“You can tell me to shove off and mind my own business if I’m crossing a line,” she said, “but I get the feeling you aren’t happy in your marriage.”

Jemima’s face closed over. “That’s a very personal thing to say.”

“Comes from experience.”

Jemima froze in the act of stirring more cream into her coffee. Looking up after several long seconds, she searched Anahera’s face. “Do you usually tell strangers?”

Anahera felt her lips twist. “I haven’t told anyone. I only found out after my husband died and she turned up at my front door.”

China rattled against china as Jemima nearly dropped both cup and saucer. Putting them down, she stared at Anahera with horrified eyes. “I am so sorry.” Her next words trembled, white lines bracketing her mouth. “My God, why couldn’t she have waited?”

“She loved him, too.” Anahera had never blamed the -woman—-it was Edward who’d been married, Edward who’d broken vows, Edward who’d made his lover promises of forever. “She couldn’t stop crying.”

Smoothing back her flawless hair with an unsteady hand, Jemima looked over at her two small children. “Let’s go onto the balcony. It’s so lovely out.”

Only once they were outside, the sliding door mostly shut behind them, did the other woman say, “I haven’t told anyone, either.” A rough whisper. “No one suspects. We have such a perfect life.”

Anahera leaned her forearms against the wooden railing, drinking in the landscape as she inhaled the crisp air. “Is it a woman connected to his business?” She had to know if Vincent’s wife had identified a stunning -nineteen--and--a--half--year--old girl as his lover.

“I don’t know.” Jemima’s fingers clenched tight around the railing. “I thought about hiring a private investigator to follow Vincent, but then I’d actually know and have to do something about it.” Releasing a shuddering breath, she said, “Right now, I can pretend that it’s all in my imagination. And we can keep on living this perfect life.”

Anahera turned her gaze from the view to the elegant lines of Jemima’s face. “You love him.” It was written in every tormented inch of her. Whatever Vincent’s reasons for marrying her, Jemima had done it out of love.

“From the moment I first met him,” Jemima whispered. “I always knew he didn’t feel the same way about me, but I thought it would grow. And we were doing okay, were building a strong friendship around our shared determination to get Vincent to the top of the political ladder, and -then…”

Jemima looked back through the sliding door, making sure her children remained involved in their game and out of earshot. “Then he found a woman who made him feel alive in a way I’ve never managed.”

“That doesn’t give him the right to hurt you.”

“The thing is”—-Jemima dropped her -head—-“even if he came to me today and confessed each and every detail, I’d tell him I’d be willing to look the other way as long as he came back to me. That’s how pathetic I am, that’s how much I love him.”

Anahera closed a hand over the other woman’s, squeezed, but part of her couldn’t help but think that a wife who was willing to put up with that much from her husband might not take it well if she believed her husband’s affair had a chance of becoming -real—-of coming out of the shadows to disrupt her perfect life. Maybe Vincent had slipped up, or maybe Jemima had hired that private investigator.

Was it possible Vincent had tried to win Miriama back by offering marriage?

“Are you worried that Vincent’s considering divorce?” Anahera pushed off the railing, angling her body to face Jemima. “And again, you can tell me to shove it if that’s going too far.”

“I think you might be the first real friend I’ve made since I walked down the aisle.” A tendril of golden hair whispered against her cheek. “I don’t want to lie to you. The truth is, I used to worry about divorce, but he’s never once mentioned it as a possibility. I keep hoping it’s just a madness that’ll pass and then I’ll have my husband back.” Words raw with hope.

Jemima truly seemed to believe the affair was ongoing.

So either Vincent had already found someone -else… or he remained obsessed with Miriama despite their breakup.