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never stopped us before.”
    Making love with Nathan is as good now as it was sixteen years ago when we slept together for the first time. Nathan was always good in bed. He was a USC quarterback after all, and he’d dated a lot of women before he ever met me. Although I wasn’t crazy about all the women chasing him, I secretly liked that he was experienced. He knew how to please me. He’s always pleased me. Sometimes I worry that I enjoy sex more than I should. I know a lot of my friends don’t have sex with their husbands anymore. Lucy being a case in point.
    “Are you awake?” Nathan asks, running his hand down my back.
    “Mmmm,” I answer sleepily, shifting in his arms, putting a little more space between our warm, sticky bodies. I love making love. I’m just not as good at cuddling afterward. It’s hard for me to sleep when Nathan holds me too close.
    He’s still stroking my back. “We need to talk.”
    I open my eyes, stare at the bedroom wall and the window with the taupe shades drawn against the night. “About what?” I ask, immediately wondering again if it was Nathan Lucy was sleeping with.
    “Our finances.”
    A wave of relief rushes over me, and I almost laugh. “What about our finances?”
    “We’re spending too much money.” He’s found the small hollows in my lower back, and he traces them lightly over and over. “We’re living way above our means.”
    My relief is replaced by a sharp twinge of guilt. He’s seen my credit card statements, then. I was hoping to hide them for another week or so. “I know. I’m sorry.”
    “We’re killing ourselves, Taylor.”
    My guilt deepens, the twinge turning to a flood of shame. I’ve had trouble with spending for years. I’m compulsive about it. I buy too much and then hide the bags in my closet, vowing to return everything, and sometimes I do and other times I just go buy some more. I don’t even like half the stuff I buy. “I’ll stop. I promise.”
    He doesn’t say anything, and my insides churn. Nathan knows me better than anyone. Nathan knows the truth. I might look great on the outside, but on the inside I’m a disaster. Obsessive-compulsive, control freak. I shop too much. Eat too much. Work too much. Work out too much. “Nathan,” I whisper.
    I can feel his shrug.
    “Nathan, what’s wrong?”
    He takes a long time to answer. Finally: “I’m worried.”
    “About what?” I ask in a small voice.
    His hand stills on my back. “Everything.”
    “You’re just tired, Nathan. You’re working too hard. This is why I wanted to get away. You need a break. You deserve a vacation.” But even as I talk, I can feel him pulling away, physically, emotionally. After a bit I run out of words, and I lie next to him in the dark, wondering why I can’t comfort him. Wondering what’s happening to us.
    “I have full confidence in you,” I say after a moment, trying again. “Everything’s going to be all right.”
    He says nothing.
    I nestle closer, curve my body around his, and hold him as tightly as I can. “It is, Nathan.”
    Several minutes pass, and he doesn’t relax. Finally, he rolls away from me to climb from bed. I watch as he walks to the window, where he lifts one blind. The pale moonlight illuminates his broad shoulders and lean, naked torso. I usually love the sight of him naked, but tonight it fills me with fear. What if I lose him?
    “What are you doing?” I ask as he steps into a pair of boxers.
    “I’m going downstairs.”
    “Why?”
    “I’m not sleepy.”
    “What will you do?”
    “Read. Work.”
    I sit higher up in bed. “It’s almost one-thirty.”
    “I know, but I won’t be able to sleep.” Then he leaves.

Chapter Three
    After Nathan goes downstairs, I lie in bed and practice breathing, the way I learned in yoga. But it’s hard to calm myself. My chest squeezes tight. I’m worried, too. Nathan’s different. He’s changing. We’re changing.
    Breathe, I tell myself. Just concentrate on your