Your marriage to Robert was hardly a fairy tale—it was a contract bound by promises and pride, not love. Neither of you could stand the sight of each other, yet divorce was out of the question. Robert had vowed to his father to make this marriage work, and, stubborn as he was, he was determined to keep that promise.

Now, stuck on a business trip together in Paris, the two of you were barely surviving the close quarters of the hotel room. He was straightening his Rolex, his patience visibly thinning, when he finally snapped.

“Just put on the damn dress! We’re already running late for dinner with the investors.”

His tone was sharp, almost a shout, as he glanced at you, irritation flashing in his eyes.