Chapter 1 - The Delivery at 8:30 P.M.
The waiter moved with quiet grace between the linen-covered patio tables, weaving past the flickering tiki torches of the Azure Palms Resort.
The desert breeze carried the scent of blooming jasmine and mesquite smoke across the terrace.
In his gloved hands, he held a crystal vase overflowing with twenty-four deep crimson roses.
Landon leaned back against his cushioned chair, swirling an expensive cabernet in his glass.
Across from him, Sloane Bennett was laughing, her bare shoulders glowing beneath the warm candlelight of Scottsdale.
She looked radiant, carefree, and completely at home in the lavish surroundings Landon’s company credit card had secured.
"Pardon the interruption, sir," the waiter said smoothly, setting the heavy vase down in the center of their table.
Landon blinked, his brow furrowing as he set down his wine glass.
"I didn't order flowers," Landon said, offering a charming, dismissive chuckle. "There must be a mistake. We're at table fourteen."
"No mistake, Mr. Hayes," the waiter replied with professional deference. "They were ordered specifically for this table, delivered at exactly eight-thirty."
Sloane gasped softly, her eyes widening with genuine delight as she touched the velvet petals.
"Landon, you shouldn't have," she teased, biting her lip. "I thought you said you weren't good at romance."
"I... well, I mean," Landon stammered, his confident mask slipping for just an instant.
He was vain enough to let her believe he had orchestrated the surprise, even as confusion flickered across his face.
He glanced around the crowded terrace, perhaps wondering if the hotel concierge had sent a complimentary gift for their premium casita booking.
Tucked neatly between the thorny red stems was a thick, cream-colored envelope sealed with gold foil.
Twenty yards away, near the grand stone fountain, my hands stayed resting flat against my linen napkin.
Brit held her breath beside me, while Keeley gently pressed her shoulder against mine.
"He's going to open it," Keeley whispered, her knuckles turning white against her cocktail glass.
"Let him," I said quietly, my voice astonishingly steady despite the cold fire roaring behind my ribs.
Sloane reached for the card first, her manicured fingers slipping beneath the flap.
"Let me see what you wrote," she purred, leaning forward over the table.
"Wait, Sloane, let me open it," Landon said, a sudden, primal instinct of dread tightening his posture.
He reached across the table and took the envelope from her hands.
He slid his finger beneath the seal, pulled out the heavy cardstock, and unfolded it under the warm glow of the lantern.
His eyes scanned the lines.
The color drained from his skin so fast it looked as though his heart had stopped beating entirely.
The message was written in the exact phrasing he had used on our first anniversary twelve years ago.
Twenty-four roses for every month of devotion.
Except this time, they mark the twenty-four months you spent lying to your wife.
Enjoy the casita, Landon. The locks at home have already been changed.
May you like
Landon froze, his fork clattering against the porcelain rim of his plate with a sharp crack.
He snapped his head up, his wild, terrified eyes scanning the patio until they locked onto mine.
