Chapter 4 Secrets In Silk

• We were careful. God, we were careful.
• Desmond never touched me at the office — not so much as a hand at the small of my back in a crowded elevator — and I never let myself linger too long at his door. We met instead at his penthouse, three quiet floors of glass and river light, on the nights when the building's staff had gone home and the doorman was a man Desmond had trusted absolutely for eleven years.
• I told myself it was enough. That a relationship conducted in careful, stolen hours was still, in every way that mattered, a relationship. I told myself the low, constant ache of hiding was a small price to pay for the way he looked at me — like I was the one unpredictable, unmanageable thing in an otherwise entirely managed life.