Chapter 5

The banquet hall had resumed its polite chaos by the time Sasha made her way back into the service corridor. Waiters in black vests moved in efficient arcs, trays of champagne flutes and canapés balanced on their shoulders. The string quartet had finished its waltz and was now playing something lighter, a scatter of notes that did not quite match the tension still humming in the air.

She picked up the luggage cart from where she'd left it and rolled it back toward the ballroom doors. The wine stain on the floor had been mopped up already—someone must have flagged it. A small mercy.

She was loading a stack of folded napkins onto the cart when she heard the footsteps.

"Sasha."

She did not turn. "I told you, I'm not quitting."

"I don't want you to quit." Julian's voice was calm now, controlled. He had found his footing somewhere in the last ten minutes, the shock settling into something more deliberate. "I want to apologize. For everything. For six years ago. For tonight. For Nadia."

Sasha set down the napkins, straightened. She still did not turn. "You can't apologize for her. She's not yours to apologize for."

He came around the cart anyway, stepping into her line of sight. His face was pale in the dim corridor light, his collar still open, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. "She's my wife. I'm responsible for what she does."