They’d honeymooned together, the three of them, in an oceanfront suite that opened directly onto the turquoise waters of the Caribbean. She loved how devoted a father Graham was. Parrot Cay was astronomically expensive and exclusive but not super-posh. It was the kind of place you could be barefoot from breakfast to dinner, wearing nothing more than a bikini and a muslin caftan, the pace as slow and languid as the heat. Harry spent hours splashing in the warm shallows, shrieking with laughter as he raced in and out of the waves, while Graham and Karolina looked on from chaise lounges, hand in hand. In the evenings they would feed Harry spaghetti or chicken fingers early, then all rinse together in the outdoor shower behind their suite. When Harry was in his striped pajamas, hair wet and smelling deliciously of coconuts, Graham would read to him while Karolina dressed. A couple of nights a kind older lady from guest reception came to stay with Harry, but since Karolina hated to leave him, they would carry him to the oceanfront restaurant and pull two chairs together to create a sort of criblike bed where Harry would curl himself around his blankie and immediately fall asleep. After a meal of fresh fish, they would walk back to the suite, Harry asleep and cradled in Graham’s arms. Giggling from too much wine, Karolina and Graham would make love like it was the most natural thing in the world, which back then it was. They’d fall asleep on top of the cover as the breeze from the ceiling fan cooled them.
Now, lying in Miriam’s guest bed, Karolina wondered if she’d imagined the whole thing. But no! Things hadn’t always been like this. The wedding and the honeymoon had been real, as had many of the years they’d shared afterward. Naturally, there had been disagreements, even a few all-out screaming fights, but those early years had been filled with mostly happy memories: Harry’s first day of kindergarten; Graham’s promotion to partner; all the birthdays and dinners and cocktail parties Karolina thoughtfully planned and executed, every detail perfect, every guest feeling wanted and welcomed. Graham had bought her beautiful, expensive jewelry for her birthdays, and yes, his secretary had probably chosen it all, but the tennis bracelets and diamond-drop earrings had come with store-bought Hallmark cards on which he’d scrawled heartfelt words about how much he loved her. He’d looked at her with both lust and adoration when she’d glided around those dreadfully boring lawyer parties, and he’d told her she lit up the room. When was the last time he had looked at her like that? Maybe this entire thing had been a misunderstanding. Maybe she was too suspicious of Regan Whitney. She didn’t have any proof that they were having an affair, and God knew her instincts weren’t always a hundred percent accurate. Could the Graham she had shared a life with for the better part of a decade—the same man who’d sworn that he would alwa