Tony poured wine into each glass and handed one to Claire. “Do you remember when we had wine at the Red Wing?”Claire closed her eyes, recalling the scene from a lifetime ago, and nodded. “I do.”“I’d been watching you for years. I was so nervous that night. I thought I was planning your acquisition.” He looked into his red liquid. Her stance straightened, “If you’re using business metaphors, may I suggest hostile takeover. It’s more appropriate.

He spoke again as if he hadn’t just shattered his promise and her security. Her house of glass now lay in a pile of shards.

In their figurative game of chess, Anthony Rawlings had Claire in check. Every move she made, he countered.

God she hated the dance. A blow to the cheek one minute and discussing a romantic getaway the next. It was the one step forward, two steps back waltz. She wanted to scream. Sitting on the side of the bed, Claire allowed herself tears and swallowed

We shall draw from the heart of suffering itself the means of inspiration and survival.-Sir Winston Churchill