She had not slept well in weeks.
Not because she missed Preston.
Not because she wanted the marriage back.
Because peace, she had learned, could cost more than a house.
Inside the courtroom, Preston Winstead sat at the opposite table in a dark gray suit, his posture straight, his face calm, his hands folded in front of him like a man waiting for a bank appointment.
Beside him sat Sienna Vale.
Sienna’s coat looked expensive without trying too hard.
Her hair was smooth.
Her mouth held the kind of almost-smile that made Claire feel twelve years younger and foolish for ever believing marriage protected a woman from public humiliation.
Claire lowered herself into the chair beside her attorney, Dana Mercer.
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