Page 1 of Dream Chaser

CHAPTER ONE

Nova

July

“Mom, your roasted chicken is never this dry.” Preston poked the chicken thigh with his fork, frowning.

“That’s because I’ve been making it for decades, honey.” Beside him, Donna, my mother-in-law, glanced at me with a patronizing smile. “I’m sure Nova will learn eventually.”

My cheeks heated. I hadn’t been cooking for thirty years like her, but it wasn’t dry. And if it was so terrible, why was my husband on his third serving?

“I told you to marinate it longer,” my mom said under her breath.

A sour taste flooded my mouth. I did. I marinated it all morning while busting my ass in the kitchen to make sure this meal and the place settings were perfect, down to the white tablecloth. I hated white tablecloths, but Preston said they made the table look more expensive, as it should when it was a special occasion.

It was our wedding anniversary today, so we were having lunch with our mothers. You know, like people madly in love did. So romantic.

I took a sip of wine. Three years of being Preston’s wife.

For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health.

What a joke.

“Bring more salad, Nova,” Preston said through a mouthful of my awful roasted chicken. The glass bowl sat on the counter right behind him, but if I said that, both his mother and mine would remind me that he was tired from his grueling nine-to-five at the bank while I contributed nothing of value even though I worked at home full-time too.

Pain shot through my lower back as I stood. My breath caught, and I gripped the edge of the table. Shit. I didn’t need this now. I inhaled, then slowly walked to get the salad.

“Here.” I handed the bowl to Preston and reclaimed my seat.

He smiled at Donna. “Salad, Mom? It should help push that dry meat down.”

I’d spent all morning making a perfect anniversary meal, and for what? Why go to so much trouble when nothing I did was ever appreciated? My eyes burned, and I blinked, reaching for my wineglass.

Donna chuckled, heaping salad onto her plate. “It’s not that bad. I’ll give Nova my grandma’s recipe. She was the best cook around.”

“Sure, give it to me.” I took a swig of red wine, letting the tartness chase away the salty tang of the tears I’d swallowed. “Did your grandma bake too? I’ve got cake in there.” I gestured toward the refrigerator with my glass. “But maybe we shouldn’t bother trying it. I’m sure it’s dry, too.”

Preston shook his head, huffing out a condescending chuckle. “See? She can’t take constructive criticism. I’d be grateful if someone pointed out ways I could improve.”

I’d list a few dozen, but this audience wouldn’t approve—and he wouldn’t take it nearly as well as he claimed. Hypocrite. I unclenched my jaw enough to take another sip, ignoring my mother’s glare. Preston’s default reaction to criticism was sulking and shifting the blame. While my shortcomings were discussed at every family get-together, he was perfect in everyone’s eyes.

A perfect son. Perfect credit union manager. Perfect candidate for mayor of Millford.

“Aw.” Donna patted Preston’s hand. “Nova might just be sensitive, you know, we get that way each month. Unless you two have been waiting to make us happy with news of a little someone on the way?”

I spluttered. Wine dripped onto my white dress, leaving a burgundy blotch.

Preston rolled his eyes. “Mom asked a perfectly normal question, Nova. We’ve been married for three years. Everyone knows female fertility declines once you reach a certain age.”

A wave of heat engulfed my face. I was twenty-five. Was he for real?

“Excuse me.” I shot to my feet. The chair scraped against the vinyl, amping up my irritation. “I need to take care of this before it stains.”

I darted to the powder room next to the kitchen and locked the door. Leaning against the white wood, I pressed my hand over my galloping heart.

Donna and my mother wanted grandchildren and never missed a chance to remind me I was behind the timeline they’d set for me, but this marriage had been broken for a long time. I refused to use a baby as glue to hold us together.

I curled my fingers around the edge of the vanity. A tired face framed by long auburn hair stared at me from the mirror above the sink. My eyes looked lifeless. Dull. Unhappy.