The Thorne Foundation gala was the event of the season. Five hundred guests, a ten-thousand-dollar plate, and enough floral arrangements to fund a small country.
Nancy, now officially the gala coordinator, had transformed the Metropolitan Museum of Art into a winter wonderland. Ice sculptures glittered, an orchestra played, and the city's elite mingled beneath a canopy of crystal chandeliers.
"You've outdone yourself," Adrian murmured, his hand at her waist as they greeted guests. Officially, they were "colleagues." Unofficially, every touch screamed possession.
"Your mother helped," Nancy admitted. "She's surprisingly supportive."
"She's plotting." Adrian's eyes followed Eleanor across the room, where she was indeed deep conversation with three eligible bachelors. "She thinks if she throws enough alternatives at me, I'll realize you're 'the one' by comparison."
"Am I? The one?"
Adrian turned to her, the noise of the gala fading. "Nancy, you were the one from the moment you told me I was wrong about the Henderson projections. Everything since has just been convincing you."
"Oh." Nancy's heart stuttered. "Well. I'm convinced."
"Good." He smiled, that rare, devastating smile. "Because after tonight, I'm taking you to Paris. And Rome. And a private island where clothing is optional and interruptions are impossible."
"Mr. Thorne!" A board member approached, saving Nancy from a response she wasn't sure she could formulate.
She excused herself, needing air, and found her way to the rooftop garden. The city spread below, beautiful and indifferent. Three months ago, she'd been an unemployed business school graduate, terrified and hopeful. Now she was...
What am I? she wondered. Adrian's girlfriend? His lover? The woman who risked everything for him and would do it again?
"Romantic view," a voice said behind her.
Nancy turned to find a man she didn't recognize—tall, distinguished, with kind eyes and a doctor's bearing. "Dr. Voss," he introduced himself. "I'm a consultant for the Foundation. Medical research division."
"Nancy Clark. Gala coordinator." They shook hands. "Are you enjoying the evening?"
"Immensely. Though I must say, I'm more interested in the Thorne family history. Fascinating genetics." Dr. Voss leaned against the railing, casual. "Did you know Adrian's father died at forty-five? Heart condition. Hereditary."
Nancy felt cold. "Adrian never mentioned..."
"Why would he? He's thirty-two. Healthy as a horse, by all appearances." Dr. Voss's smile didn't reach his eyes. "But the Thorne men have a pattern. Early death, sudden onset, no warning. Adrian's grandfather, thirty-eight. His great-grandfather, forty-one. His father, as I said, forty-five."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because, Ms. Clark, I believe in informed consent." Dr. Voss handed her a folder. "Adrian's medical records. Recent tests I was asked to analyze. You'll find them... illuminating."
Nancy didn't take the folder. "I won't betray his privacy."
"You already have, in a way. By loving him." Dr. Voss set the folder on a bench. "The question is whether you'll let him betray you. Whether you'll let him plan a future he knows he can't keep."
He walked away, leaving Nancy alone with her fears. She stared at the folder, trembling.
Don't , she told herself. Don't look. Trust him. Love him.
But the folder sat there, a Pandora's box of possibilities. And Nancy, who had always needed to know, who had always faced truth head-on, reached for it.
The first page was a genetic screening report. The second, a cardiologist's assessment. The third...
Patient shows markers for hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. Recommend immediate lifestyle changes. Prognosis without intervention: 5-10 years.
Nancy read it three times. Then she sat down, very carefully, and tried to remember how to breathe.
Adrian was dying. He'd always been dying. And he'd never told her.