Ten days of sun, sand, and surf had not been enough to distract Rachel's obsessive mind. She was inclined to lay the blame toward everything but herself, from the less-than-satisfactory weather in Ibiza, to her reluctant, if willing, choice of travel companions. But the truth was, running away hadn't done exactly what it was supposed to do. And for that, Rachel thought, perhaps, she was unable to blame on anyone except herself. For her disarrayed state of mind, however, there was only one person at fault for, and he was somewhere in England.

It might have turned into a real holiday she could enjoy, if it hadn't been for some very disturbing words he'd uttered during their argument—foremost amongst them that he loved her. Even now, so many days later, Rachel was inclined to believe it wasn't true; it couldn't be true! They'd been married less than six months. They'd only known each other in the most basic manner since the end of October! That wasn't enough time to start loving somebody, particularly not somebody as outrageously flawed as herself. But when she'd begun to voice the same thoughts to Gabriel, he'd merely insisted that it was the truth. Regardless of whether or not it was, Rachel found herself being able to think of little else besides it. What if, one day, he decided her voice mattered little in their future decisions? He loved her. What if he let his mother take a place of importance in their lives, allowing her to make decisions and pass judgment that outweighed Rachel's? He loved her. What if he never took an active position in their marriage anyway, and went about doing whatever the first strong female figure told him to do? ( He loved her. )