Grace walked beside him in a dark emerald maternity dress beneath a cream coat.
Her golden-blonde hair fell in loose waves over one shoulder.
One hand rested beneath the curve of her stomach.
The other held a slim black leather folder.
She looked composed.
Almost peaceful.
As though finding her husband wrapped around his mistress in a luxury resort lobby was merely an inconvenient piece of weather.
Vanessa moved first.
Her hand snapped away from Ethan.
“Oh, my God.”
Ethan barely heard her.
Grace’s eyes met his.
He searched her face for devastation.
There was none.
Anger?
Nothing.
Humiliation?
Not even that.
Then Grace turned slightly toward Declan.
“We have six minutes.”
Declan checked his watch.
“Five forty-eight.”
Grace nodded.
“Then we shouldn’t keep them waiting.”
She walked past Ethan.
Just walked past him.
No accusation.
No slap.
No question.
Her perfume reached him for half a second.
