Chapter 1 - The Dress That Came Back
Mara Serrano shoved the plum gown into the return box and whispered, "Please don't tell Dominic."
Dominic Serrano walked in holding the wooden hanger from the sixth returned dress.
Three words were scratched beneath its label.
NOT FOR HER.
Dominic realized his wife hadn't been rejecting his gifts.
He stopped just inside the doorway.
Mara had not seen him yet.
She stood beside a waist-high cardboard box in the private fitting area, gripping a fistful of shimmering plum fabric as though she were trying to force it into a space too small for it.
The gown was beautiful.
Dominic knew because he had chosen it himself.
Not through an assistant.
Not through Celeste.
Not by sending some employee into a boutique with his credit card and instructions to find something expensive.
He had gone himself.
He had seen the deep plum silk under the lights and immediately imagined Mara wearing it at the Serrano Foundation gala.
The color would warm her brown eyes. The cut would follow the curves he loved. The neckline was elegant without being timid.
The designer had asked whether he wanted a smaller size brought out.
Dominic had looked at her until she stopped talking.
"My wife's size is on the card."
That had been the end of the discussion.
Now the dress was being crushed into a box.
Again.
Mara wiped quickly beneath one eye.
Dominic's jaw tightened.
Behind her stood his sister Celeste and their cousin Bianca.
Celeste wore pale blue.
Bianca wore burgundy.
Both women had gone silent the instant Dominic entered.
That silence told him almost as much as Mara's tears.
Almost.
"Mara."
She froze.
Her hand remained inside the box.
Slowly, she looked over her shoulder.
The transformation in her face happened so quickly another man might have missed it.
Dominic did not.
Pain disappeared.
A smile replaced it.
"You're here early."
Dominic glanced at the gown.
"So are you."
Mara straightened.
"I was just finishing something."
"I can see that."
She looked down.
Dominic walked toward her.
He did not hurry.
Men who hurried around Dominic Serrano usually did so because they were afraid of him. Dominic had spent most of his adult life making sure he never needed to hurry for anyone.
But each step toward his wife made something colder settle inside him.
He stopped beside the box.
Six gowns had already been returned.
Ivory.
Emerald.
Midnight blue.
Black velvet.
Rose gold.
Copper silk.
Every time, Mara had given him a different explanation.
The neckline wasn't right.
The fabric felt strange.
The waist was uncomfortable.
The color wasn't really her.
The event was too formal.
The dress was too expensive.
Dominic had accepted every answer.
Not because he believed all of them.
Because he believed her.
There was a difference.
He had never wanted his gifts to become obligations.
If Mara hated every dress in Manhattan, he would buy her jeans and take her to the gala in them.
But this was different.
There were tears on her face.
And someone had scratched NOT FOR HER into a hanger from one of the dresses.
Dominic lifted the plum gown from the box.
Mara reached for it.
"Dominic, don't."
He looked at her.
Her hand stopped.
"Why?"
"It's not right."
"For the gala?"
"For me."
The answer came too quickly.
Dominic studied her.
Mara folded her arms across herself.
That movement bothered him more than the tears.
His wife had never hidden her body from him.
When they met, Mara had been wearing a red dress at a charity dinner and arguing with a hotel manager who had accused one of the kitchen workers of stealing champagne.
Dominic had watched her defend a stranger for ten minutes.
Then she had turned around, caught him staring, and asked whether he had a problem.
He had fallen halfway in love before learning her last name.
Mara had never entered a room apologizing for the space she occupied.
Not until recently.
"What isn't right about it?" he asked.
Mara shrugged.
"The shape."
"I chose the shape."
"I know."
"The color?"
"No."
"The size?"
Her eyes flickered.
There.
Dominic saw it.
He lowered the gown.
"Mara."
Celeste stepped forward.
"Dominic, this really doesn't need to become a whole thing."
He turned his head.
Celeste stopped.
"What doesn't?"
"It's a dress."
"I wasn't asking you."
Celeste's lips pressed together.
Bianca looked toward the clothing rack.
Dominic returned his attention to Mara.
"Tell me."
Mara tried to smile again.
That hurt worse.
"There's nothing to tell."
He held up the hanger.
"What does this mean?"
Her face changed.
Celeste's did too.
Dominic noticed both.
Mara stared at the words scratched beneath the boutique label.
NOT FOR HER.
"I've never seen that."
"I believe you."
Her eyes lifted.
The immediate relief there was so genuine that Dominic nearly reached for her.
Instead, he asked, "Do you know who wrote it?"
"No."
Celeste exhaled.
"Honestly, Dominic."
He turned.
His sister folded her arms.
"Someone in alterations probably marked it incorrectly. You're acting like somebody sent her a threat."
Dominic said nothing.
Celeste had known him for thirty-eight years.
She should have known silence was the wrong moment to keep talking.
She did anyway.
"Mara doesn't like the dresses. That's all."
"Then why is she crying?"
Mara immediately touched her cheek.
"I'm not."
Dominic looked at her.
She gave a tiny laugh.
It broke halfway through.
"I mean, I was. It's stupid."
Nothing about Dominic's expression moved.
"What happened?"
"Nothing happened."
"Mara."
"Please."
One word.
Soft.
Not frightened of him.
Frightened of what would happen if she answered him.
Dominic finally understood that much.
He put the hanger on the table.
Then he took Mara's hands.
She resisted for half a second before allowing him to hold them.
"Look at me."
She did.
"You don't have to wear anything I buy."
"I know."
"You can return fifty dresses."
A faint smile touched her mouth.
"That's an expensive threat."
"I'll survive."
That almost got a real smile.
Almost.
Dominic brushed his thumb across her knuckles.
"But you're not going to lie to me about why."
Her smile vanished.
Behind them, Bianca shifted.
Dominic heard the small click of her heel.
Mara did too.
Her eyes moved past him.
That was enough.
Dominic released one of Mara's hands.
He turned toward the two women.
"Leave."
Bianca looked startled.
Celeste didn't move.
"This is ridiculous."
"Then leaving shouldn't be difficult."
"Dominic—"
"Celeste."
His sister went quiet.
Bianca grabbed her handbag.
"I'm going."
She crossed toward the exit.
Celeste remained.
As Bianca passed Dominic, her eyes dropped to the gown.
Then to Mara.
It lasted less than a second.
Dominic caught it.
So did Mara.
Mara's shoulders pulled inward.
Dominic's anger sharpened.
"Bianca."
She stopped.
"Yes?"
"What did you just look at?"
Her face emptied.
"I don't know what you mean."
"You looked at my wife."
"She's standing in front of me."
"You looked at the dress first."
Bianca glanced at Celeste.
Mistake.
Dominic followed the glance.
Celeste's expression hardened.
"Enough."
Dominic slowly faced his sister.
"You want to tell me what's happening?"
"Nothing is happening."
"That's becoming a popular answer."
Mara touched his arm.
"Dominic, please. Can we just go?"
He looked down at her hand.
She was trembling.
The anger inside him changed shape.
This wasn't about a dress.
It hadn't been for some time.
"Yes," he said.
Mara blinked.
"Yes?"
"We'll go."
Relief crossed her face.
Dominic picked up the plum gown.
"I'll take this."
"No."
Her answer was immediate.
Dominic looked at her.
Mara swallowed.
"I mean... leave it."
"You liked it."
"I don't."
"You were holding it against yourself when I walked in."
Her cheeks reddened.
"I was checking the fit."
"Without putting it on?"
She had no answer.
Dominic folded the gown carefully over his arm.
"We're taking it home."
Mara looked toward Celeste.
Again.
Dominic saw it.
He walked Mara out without saying another word.
His driver opened the rear door of the black sedan waiting outside.
Mara slid in.
Dominic handed the garment bag to the driver before entering beside her.
For the first several blocks, neither spoke.
Mara watched Manhattan pass outside the window.
Dominic watched Mara.
Finally she sighed.
"You can stop staring at me."
"No."
"Dominic."
"Who said something to you?"
Her eyes remained on the window.
"No one."
"Bad answer."
"It's the truth."
"No. It's the answer you think will end the conversation."
She turned.
"And if I don't want the conversation?"
"Then we don't have it tonight."
That surprised her.
Dominic leaned back.
"But we will have it."
Mara's mouth tightened.
"Why can't you just believe I don't want the dress?"
"Because you looked happy holding it."
She stared at him.
He continued quietly.
"Then you looked at my sister and became ashamed."
Mara's face drained.
There it was.
Dominic wished he hadn't been right.
He reached for her hand.
She pulled it into her lap.
"Don't."
That hurt.
He let his hand fall.
"Mara."
"I don't want you fighting with your family."
"I haven't said anything about fighting."
"You don't have to."
He almost smiled.
She knew him too well.
"Mara, Celeste is my sister. You are my wife. Those are not competing positions."
"You say that because you don't know how families like yours work from the outside."
"Families like mine?"
"Old families. Powerful families."
Dominic's expression hardened slightly.
"Say what you're trying to say."
Mara closed her eyes.
Then she shook her head.
"No."
The car stopped at a light.
Dominic waited.
Mara opened her eyes again.
"You chose seven dresses."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"For the gala."
"Why seven?"
"Because you returned six."
Despite herself, she laughed.
Dominic's chest loosened.
Then she said, "Maybe you should have understood the message."
"What message?"
"That none of them belonged on me."
The light changed.
The sedan moved.
Dominic did not.
He stared at his wife.
"Who told you that?"
Mara looked away.
"Nobody."
"You didn't talk about yourself like that three months ago."
"People change."
"Not this fast."
Her jaw tightened.
"Drop it."
Dominic went silent.
For the rest of the ride, he did exactly what she asked.
That frightened Mara more than an argument would have.
At the townhouse, she went upstairs.
Dominic remained in the study.
Twenty minutes later, Celeste arrived.
She entered without knocking.
"You summoned me like an employee."
Dominic stood beside the fireplace, holding a glass of water he had not touched.
"I asked you to come."
"At eleven at night."
"You came."
Celeste threw her handbag onto a chair.
"What do you want?"
"The truth."
"About?"
He took the hanger from the desk.
Celeste looked at it.
"Again?"
"Who wrote this?"
"I told you. Probably someone at the boutique."
"I called the boutique."
Her expression changed.
Tiny.
But enough.
Dominic continued.
"They don't mark hangers."
Celeste said nothing.
"They also checked their alteration records."
He placed the hanger between them.
"This hanger wasn't used by their staff."
Celeste looked irritated now.
"Then someone else wrote it."
"Excellent."
Dominic stepped closer.
"Who?"
"I don't know."
"Bianca?"
"No."
"You?"
Celeste's eyes flashed.
"Of course not."
"Then why did Mara keep looking at you?"
"Maybe because you were interrogating everyone like someone had been murdered."
"My wife was crying."
"Women cry."
Dominic's stare turned glacial.
Celeste realized what she had said.
"That's not what I meant."
"Careful."
She exhaled.
"Dominic, Mara is sensitive."
He almost laughed.
"Mara?"
"Yes."
"The woman who told a federal prosecutor at our wedding to move because he was blocking the dessert table?"
Celeste looked away.
"The woman who negotiated her own publishing contract because she didn't trust her attorney?"
"That's different."
"The woman who once threw a glass of wine on Vittorio Bellini because he insulted a waitress?"
Celeste's mouth twitched despite herself.
"He deserved it."
"He did."
Dominic stepped closer.
"So tell me how that woman became too sensitive to wear a dress."
Celeste's amusement disappeared.
Upstairs, a floorboard creaked.
Both looked toward the ceiling.
Dominic lowered his voice.
"What did you say to her?"
"Nothing."
"Celeste."
"I didn't say anything."
He studied his sister.
Then he noticed something.
Her wording.
Not I don't know what you're talking about.
Not nobody said anything.
I didn't say anything.
Dominic put the glass down.
"Who did?"
Celeste froze.
He saw the answer before she spoke.
"Who?"
"I should go."
Dominic stepped between her and the door.
Celeste stared at him.
"Move."
"Name."
"You're making this worse."
"For whom?"
"For Mara."
That stopped him.
Celeste immediately regretted saying it.
Dominic's voice became dangerously quiet.
"Explain."
She shook her head.
"You need to talk to your wife."
"I tried."
"Then try again."
"What happened?"
Celeste grabbed her handbag.
Dominic didn't move.
For the first time that night, genuine fear entered his sister's eyes.
Not fear of him.
Fear of something else.
"Dominic, there are things Mara hasn't told you."
"About what?"
Celeste glanced toward the stairs.
"About the gala."
His pulse slowed.
"What about it?"
"She wasn't planning to go."
Dominic stared at her.
Mara had chaired the foundation's scholarship committee for six months.
The gala mattered to her more than it did to him.
"Why?"
Celeste looked down.
"Ask her."
"Why?"
"Because this isn't mine to tell."
Dominic's phone vibrated.
He ignored it.
Celeste tried to step around him.
He caught her wrist.
Not hard.
Enough.
"Who made my wife believe she couldn't stand beside me?"
Celeste looked into his eyes.
Her face changed.
For one second, Dominic thought she might finally answer.
Then his phone vibrated again.
And again.
He released her.
The screen showed three messages from an unknown number.
The first contained no words.
Only a photograph.
Dominic opened it.
Mara stood inside the boutique.
She was alone in a fitting room.
She wore the copper gown—the sixth dress.
The photograph had been taken through a partially open door.
Dominic's blood went cold.
He opened the second message.
Another photograph.
Mara again.
This time she was sitting on the fitting-room bench with her face in her hands.
Someone had photographed his wife crying.
The third message contained a six-second audio file.
Dominic pressed play.
A woman's voice filled the quiet study.
"You really think Dominic wants to walk into that room with you looking like this?"
Dominic stopped breathing.
Celeste went pale.
He looked at her.
"You recognize that voice."
She backed away.
"Dominic—"
"Who is it?"
Upstairs, something crashed.
Dominic turned toward the staircase.
"Mara?"
No answer.
He moved.
Celeste caught his sleeve.
"Wait."
He tore free and took the stairs two at a time.
The bedroom door stood open.
Mara wasn't inside.
The bathroom was empty.
Then he noticed the light beneath the dressing-room door.
"Mara?"
Silence.
He crossed the bedroom.
His phone vibrated once more.
A fourth message.
This one contained only a sentence.
SHE KNOWS WHO STARTED IT.
Dominic reached for the dressing-room handle.
It turned before he touched it.
May you like
The door opened from the inside.
And someone behind Mara whispered Dominic's name.
