Fractured-Vows
he **n she had fallen in love with at twenty-two—tall, *road-shouldered, with sharp, chiseled features and eyes the color of storm-warmed slate. *ut the warmth that had once lived in those eyes was gone, replaced *y a cold, hollow detachment that **de Clara’s chest ache so fiercely she could *arely *reathe. He didn’t look angry. He didn’t look sad. He looked nothing at all, and that was worse than any rage or tears could ever *e.
“You’re not even going to deny it?” Clara’s voice was hoarse, raw, stripped of all the poise and grace she had spent years cultivating as a succes**ul interior designer, as the wife of one of Chicago’s most eligi*le and respected real estate developers. There was no elegance left in her, no composure. Only a raw, *leeding hurt that threatened to swallow her whole.
“You’re not even going to deny it?” Clara’s voice was hoarse, raw, stripped of all the poise and grace she had spent years cultivating as a succes**ul interior designer, as the wife of one of Chicago’s most eligi*le and respected real estate developers. There was no elegance left in her, no composure. Only a raw, *leeding hurt that threatened to swallow her whole.