He leaned in, his expression earnest. “Don’t make a bigger deal out of this than it has to be. I love you—at the end of the day, isn’t that all that truly matters? Come with me to Italy.”

But as Rylann sat there, staring into his dark hazel eyes, she knew it wasn’t that simple. “Jon…you know I can’t go.”

“Why not?”

“For one thing, I’m an assistant United States attorney. I’m thinking they don’t have a lot of job openings for those in Rome.”

He shrugged. “I make plenty of money. You don’t need to work.”

Rylann’s gaze sharpened. “If I’m supposedly so focused on my career, that’s not really going to sell me on this trip, is it?”

Jon sat back in his chair, saying nothing for a moment. “So that’s it?” He gestured angrily. “Going to Italy doesn’t fit into your ten-year plan or whatever, so you’re just going to choose your job over me?”

Actually, it was a twelve-year plan, and scrapping everything to move to Rome with no job and no prospects definitely wasn’t in it, but Jon was conveniently sidestepping the issue. “Moving to Italy might be your dream, but…it isn’t mine,” she said.

“I’d been hoping it could be our dream.”

Had he now? Rylann rested her arms on the table. Somewhere along the way, this had begun to feel like a cross-examination. “You said you asked for this transfer. Did you tell them you needed to discuss it with me before you committed to going?”

Jon met Rylann’s eyes with a look of guilt she recognized well, one she’d seen numerous times on the faces of the criminal defendants she prosecuted.

“No,” he said quietly.

She rested her case.

NEARLY SIX MONTHS after that night, Rylann was sitting on her living room floor, unpacking a box that contained half of the Villeroy & Boch dinnerware she and Jon had bought for entertaining. Jon had insisted she have the entire set of ten, but as a final “screw you and your pity,” she’d taken only her fair share. Now, however, she was wondering what the heck she was going to do with an incomplete set of china.

Darn pride.

Her cell phone rang, so she put the dinnerware conundrum on hold. She rummaged around on the floor and finally located her phone under a pile of packing paper. She checked the display and saw it was Rae. “Hey, you.”

“How’s the new apartment?” Rae asked.

Rylann tucked the phone against her shoulder, freeing her hands so she could continue unpacking the box as she talked. “Mostly a disaster right now, since I got a late start. I spent the afternoon walking around, checking out the neighborhood.” And she’d nearly frozen her ass off in her trench coat. Apparently, somebody hadn’t told the city of Chicago that it was spring. “If I remember correctly, somebody had volunteered to come over and help me unpack,” she said teasingly.

Rae sounded guilty. “I know. I’m the worst friend in the world. I’m still stuck at work. I’ve got a summary judgment motion due next week, and the draft this second-year sent me is a piece of crap. I’ve been rewriting the statement of facts all afternoon. But I think I can be there in about an hour. On the bright side, I’ve got cupcakes.”

Rylann pulled a dessert plate out of the box. “Ooh—nice. We can eat them on my very fancy and incomplete set of china.” She looked around. “Seriously, what am I going to do with five sets of dinnerware?”

“You could…throw an elaborate dinner party for my imaginary boyfriend, your imaginary boyfriend, and their imaginary third-wheel friend who seemingly never has anything better to do?”

Ouch. “Don’t laugh. After Jon and I broke up and he moved to Rome, I was that third-wheel friend,” Rylann said. Their closest friends in San Francisco had been “couple” friends, and after the breakup, she simply hadn’t fit in anymore. One of the many reasons she’d been looking for a fresh start in Chicago. “At least in this city, I’m a first wheel. A unicycle.”

Rae laughed. “Very tricky business, unicycling. Particularly in your thirties.”

“It’s not like I never dated before Jon. How different can it be?”

“Oh, such naivete.” Rae sighed dramatically. “I remember when I, too, was once so hopeful and unjaded.” Her tone turned a touch more serious. “Think you’re ready for all this?”

As Rylann took in the chaotic state of the apartment—her new apartment—Jon’s words popped into her head.

Maybe it’s time for a new adventure.

“I think I have to be,” she told Rae.

Because there was one final piece of the sixth-month plan she was absolutely determined to follow through on.

No regrets, and no looking back.

Five

MONDAY MORNING, WITH her briefcase swinging by her side, Rylann got off the elevator at the twenty-first floor of the Dirksen Federal Building. She made her way to a set of glass doors bearing the familiar Department of Justice seal: an eagle carrying the United States shield with the motto Qui Pro Domina Justitia Sequitur, “who prosecutes on behalf of justice.”

Seeing that seal helped put Rylann at ease. Sure, she was a little nervous about her first day at the Chicago office, and it felt odd being the new kid on the block again, but she wasn’t a junior litigator fresh off a clerkship anymore. She’d prosecuted cases as an assistant U.S. attorney in San Francisco for the last six years; she’d advanced her way up to the special prosecutions division, and she’d had one of the best trial records in the district.