CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Sunlight streamed into Madeleine’s room, but she was already awake. She’d slept fitfully, tossing and turning, mulling over what Enrique had said about the marriage he now wanted with her.
She wouldn’t be his wife. Not in the way most defined marriage.
Her forehead throbbed.
Why did he want that?
For days—weeks before they’d met if she were being honest—an in-name-only marriage was what she’d wanted. A state marriage, a business arrangement, nothing more. But now…
Something ate at her. Had led to a restless night. Knotted her stomach.
She stared at Louie’s photograph. “This is what I wanted originally. Why aren’t I happier?”
Her question remained unanswered. Like all the ones she’d asked the photograph for the past five years.
Five years.
One. Two. Three. Four. F
