The kitchen was quiet, so quiet it felt like the whole house was holding its breath.

Julian stood at the counter, prepping ingredients.

A black dress shirt. Black slacks. Broad shoulders, narrow waist.

Tall. Untouchable.

His back looked like it was made for an Eastern woman to lean into. That picture used to be everything Francesca craved. Now, it only left her with a hollow kind of sigh, a sadness she couldn’t name without choking on ...