"I'll drive myself," Molly said, her tone flat.
"My mother can't be upset." She had surgery coming up soon. If they arrived separately, she'd overthink things.
Molly didn't respond. Even if her mother-in-law got upset, that was his doing, not hers.
She raised the window, but Miles spoke suddenly. "The brooch—you don't want it anymore?"
Molly looked at him. One hand braced against the roof of the car, his posture deceptively relaxed, yet he had her completely cornered.
She pressed her lips together. In the end, she got out.
Sharing a car with Miles—this was the first time in three years of marriage.
Something she'd once longed for so desperately now brought her no joy at all.
The driver was steady. Molly sat pressed against the window, catching in her peripheral vision the crisp press of his trousers, not a single wrinkle.
Neither of them spoke.
Twenty minutes later, the car arrived at the Vance Old Estate.
Miles fastened his suit jacket, stepped out, and took her hand.
Molly's fingers trembled. Looking down at their interlaced hands, she felt worse than she had waiting up for him all night.
She was repulsed. She tried hard to shake him off, but couldn't.