How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue

Chapter 172

He paused, then added, "The view here is really stunning at night."

Elodie understood perfectly-this was the old woman's way of nudging them toward a romantic evening.

She glanced around instinctively.

Apart from the violinist in the corner, playing softly to set the mood, and the waitstaff moving in and out at the edges, the place was hardly private.

In fact, it was the kind of setting where prying eyes and loose lips came with the territory.

"I'm done eating. I'll head in first," Elodie said, rising from her seat. This wasn't the place to discuss the ring-not with the risk that anything they said could be twisted and reported straight back to Jarrod's grandmother by morning.

Jarrod didn't stop her. He took a cigarette from the pack, watching her with a quiet intensity. "It's still chilly out here. Go on in."

Not hesitating for a second, Elodie turned away.

She felt no attachment to this romantic scene, bought and paid for with money and little else.

The suite stretched out before her, easily several thousand square feet. A trail of rose petals led from the entrance all the way into the living room. She glanced toward the bedroom; even from here, she could see the bed was covered in more rose petals.

Soft lighting, bottles of expensive wine-every detail screamed Valentine's Day. Elodie didn't spare any of it a second look. None of it moved her.

couch, brushed the petals

in the privacy of the suite, Jarrod's

her watch: just past

things with Jarrod about

him the divorce papers, she'd asked for nothing. But if he insisted on keeping the Thorne family ring, she would demand a revision-she'd

if it meant a

to

Jarrod would see sense. If the divorce agreement was thrown out, it would be

would never tolerate such a waste of

a slow breath, only then noticing the dull ache

past few weeks, but she'd grown used to ignoring it. Digging into her bag, she pulled out her iPad

reading

legs carrying him across the room as he

at Elodie-she was frowning

He didn't interrupt her.

to the far end of the couch and sat down, leaving a comfortable distance

there, each lost in their own world, as if the meticulously staged Valentine's ambiance meant nothing

when the pain in her stomach grew