Chapter 2 - The Flashes in the Rain
The flashbulbs erupted the second Nora pushed through the heavy glass doors of the St. Regis ballroom.
Cold November drizzle hit her bare shoulders like needles, but she didn’t flinch. She didn’t wrap her arms around herself, and she didn’t duck her head. The media scrum had been waiting on the sidewalk for the high-society arrival of the Caruso anniversary party, but what tumbled out of the grand entrance was far better: Dominic Caruso’s usually invisible wife, standing under the glaring halogen lights with a burning red handprint stamped across her left cheekbone.
"Mrs. Caruso! Is it true the winter collection was co-designed by Vanessa Sterling?"
"Nora, look over here! Did an altercation occur inside?"
"Where is Mr. Caruso?"
Behind her, the heavy brass doors banged open again. Dominic burst into the autumn chill, his tailored tuxedo jacket unbuttoned, his face dark with an emotion that looked dangerously close to panic.
"Nora!" His voice sliced through the cacophony of shutters. "Get back inside. Clear these people out! Julian, get security on the pavement now!"
The security detail scrambled, shoving reporters aside with broad shoulders, trying to erect an umbrella barrier around her face. They weren't trying to shelter her from the rain; they were trying to smother the evidence of what Dominic had just done.
Nora stepped smoothly to the left, stepping out from beneath the security guard’s black canopy. She turned her profile directly into the lens of an Associated Press photographer whose camera was firing at twelve frames per second.
"Nora, don't do this," Dominic pleaded, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly timbre he used when negotiating eight-figure buyouts. He reached out to seize her wrist—the proprietary grip of a man who believed everything with his ring on it belonged to him.
She pulled her hand back as if his skin were dipped in acid.
"Do not touch me," she said. Her voice wasn't loud, but in the sudden vacuum between shutter clicks, every microphone caught it.
"You're making a scene," Dominic hissed, stepping into her space, his towering frame casting a shadow over her. "You took a swing at Vanessa. You lost control. I had to separate you—"
"You slapped your wife to protect the woman who stole my life’s work," she replied, looking straight into his amber-brown eyes. For five years, those eyes had been her home. Now, looking into them was like staring into the dead windows of a burned-out building. "And the whole world is going to watch the replay."
A yellow taxi, hailed by no one in particular, pulled up to the curb to drop off a hotel guest. Before Dominic’s private chauffeur could pull the armored Maybach around, Nora wrenched the cab’s rear door open.
"Nora, get in our car!" Dominic lunged forward, his fingers brushing the silk of her midnight-blue gown.
"Drive," Nora told the cabby, slamming the door. "Grand Central. Now."
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The cab accelerated into the slick Manhattan traffic, leaving Dominic Caruso standing alone in the rain, surrounded by dozens of flashing cameras, his hand still suspended in the empty air.
***
