My husband shoved me off an icy cliff while I was nine months pregnant because he thought my life was worth less than a fifty-million-dollar insurance payout. – usnews
“Elena Hale,” he continued. “Born Elena Marlow. Daughter of Sofia Marlow.”
My mother’s name struck me harder than I expected.
Sofia Marlow.
I had not heard it spoken by anyone who knew her in years.
“You knew my mother,” I said.
“Yes.”
“How?”
Adrian lowered himself back into the chair. “That is a longer conversation than you should have tonight.”
“I almost died tonight.”
His eyes closed briefly.
When he opened them, the careful corporate mask had slipped. Beneath it was a man carrying a wound so old it had become part of his posture.
“I loved her,” he said.
The room seemed to still.
“She worked as a translator for one of our European offices before Cross Atlantic became what it is now. She was brilliant. Stubborn. Funny in a way that made you feel foolish and grateful at the same time.” His gaze moved to my face, as though searching for pieces of her there. “We were together for almost a year.”
