Sloane pressed a hand to her belly. She felt completely emptied out of patience and tolerance toward her husband. Those feelings had been replaced by a mother’s rage that her daughter had been exposed to such a horrible image. At the same time, she was furious with herself for giving her heart to a man like Alan and believing that he could make her happy and be a good father.

Glancing at the bathroom door, where Chloe’s pink bathrobe hung on a hook, Sloane felt a muscle twitch at her jaw. “Wait a second. Yes, I do want to know. Is it the nanny?”

“Come on, Sloane. Of course not.”

She hated it when he used that tone—as if she were being irrational and unreasonable. Whenever he spoke to her like that, she backed down—rather pathetically, she now realized—but tonight she didn’t care what he thought. She was fit to be tied.

“Excuse me for asking,” she replied, sarcastically. “So if it’s not the nanny, who is it?”

“No one you know.” He spoke with impatience.

His sense of entitlement was unimaginable.

When Sloane didn’t respond, the silence gained weight, and eventually he spoke in a more appeasing tone, almost as if he were trying to charm her or flirt with her. “Relax, will you?” he added. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing? You’re telling me it’s nothing.” She looked at Chloe’s pink bathrobe again. “If that’s the way you’re going to play it, fine. I need to hang up now.”

“Wait a second. Listen . . .”

“No, you listen, Alan. Right now, I need to figure out how I’m going to explain to my seven-year-old daughter that her father didn’t mean to send her a dick pic. That he meant to send it to someone else. Think about that.”

Alan was quiet for a moment. “Wait, Sloane. Look . . . I’m sorry. I was rushed. It was stupid of me.”

“And there we have it,” she said. “Now I know for sure that you’re a moron. I don’t even know what to say to you right now.”

“Sloane, stop.”

“No, Alan. You stop. I can’t do this anymore.”

“You can’t do what?”

For the first time in their marriage, he sounded worried.

“All of it. I’m hanging up now. Don’t call me back. Good-bye.”

She ended the call and sat on the edge of the tub for a few seconds, heart racing, stomach churning with anger, heartache, and fear for whatever was about to come next in her life. How was she going to deal with this? She felt paralyzed and couldn’t move.

After a moment, she took a few deep breaths, counted to ten, and left the bathroom to check on Chloe and somehow try to explain to her children what just happened.

“Priceless!” Connor threw his head back and laughed.

“It’s not funny.” Sloane seethed as she glanced around the crowded restaurant. “She’s seven years old. Something like this could scar her for life.” She reached for her wine. “I wish Mom hadn’t gone home.”

Connor waved a hand through the air dismissively. “Relax. Chloe will be fine.” Growing bored with Sloane’s motherly concerns, he signaled for the waiter to bring him another scotch on the rocks.

“I’m telling you,” Sloane said, “it was the last straw. I can’t take it anymore.”

Connor made a talking gesture with his fingers. “You’ve been saying that for two years. No one believes you. Least of all Alan.”

“I mean it this time,” she replied. “I’m going to call my lawyer first thing in the morning.”

“Sure you will.” The waiter arrived with Connor’s second scotch on the rocks. He swirled the liquid around in the glass and watched the ice cubes clink together. “Yum.”

“I’m serious, Connor,” Sloane said, running out of patience for his apathetic sarcasm. “It’s not just because it’s completely humiliating, which it is. And it’s not because I’m hurt. I have to think about Evan and Chloe. What is this teaching them about life? Chloe’s going to grow up thinking women are just playthings and that men can’t be trusted.”

“How is divorcing Alan going to fix that?” Connor asked, dispassionately.

“I don’t know. But I feel like I need to get them out of LA.”

“LA’s not the problem.”

She glared at him. “What are you saying? Are you suggesting that I’m the problem? Don’t roll your eyes at me. I hate it when you do that.”

He slumped back in his chair. “I’m just saying that a change in your geographic location won’t suddenly make you a happier, more fulfilled person or a better mother.”

She reached for her wine again. “Maybe it will.”

“Or maybe it won’t. Wherever you go, there you are. And your kids won’t have a father. They’ll come from a broken home. Is that what you want? What we had? Look at us now, cut out of Daddy’s will. Your kids deserve better.”

Sloane finished her wine and refilled her glass with the bottle they’d ordered—one of their father’s most expensive vintages.

“Something has to change,” she said. “And don’t act like you’re the poster boy for being happy and fulfilled. You’re as miserable as I am.”

“Only because Dad ditched me in his will,” he replied morosely.

“He ditched me too.”

Connor pointed a finger at her. “Which is why you shouldn’t be thinking about divorcing Alan right now.”

Sloane slouched back in her chair. “I can’t let that be the reason I stay with him. Money isn’t everything.”

Connor let out a dramatic belly laugh. “You are an absolute scream.”

She looked around the restaurant. “Seriously, Connor. Look at these people. They don’t look rich to me, but they’re all smiling and enjoying themselves.”

“That’s your problem. You always think the grass is greener on the other side of the fence. But trust me. None of these people are happy. They’re just faking it, like everyone else.”

The waiter brought the first course. Sloane ate it but couldn’t really taste anything. It was difficult to make use of her senses when her entire world was collapsing all around her.

“What I think I want to do,” she finally said, “is move the kids to London. We could start fresh, and I won’t need Alan’s money. Even if Dad’s will isn’t overturned, I can get by with what he left me.”

Connor’s expression grew strained, his eyes level under drawn brows.

“Slow down there, Sparky. We need to talk about that.”

“Why?”

“Because he left the London house to me too.”

“But you never go to London,” she replied. “Why should it matter if the kids and I live there?”

“That’s exactly why it matters—because I never go. Dad screwed us over with the winery, so I need to cash in on what, to me, is a useless piece of real estate. We need to sell it.”

Sloane’s lips fell open. “No, we can’t do that. It’s not useless.”

Slowly, silently sipping his scotch, Connor stared at her from across the table. “Then you’re going to have to buy me out, sis, because fifty percent of it belongs to me, and I want my money, not a money pit.”