And when Sam rolled off the changing table eight months later, broke his arm, and hit his head, she couldn't even find his father for two days. When she finally caught up with him, after Cabo, he was on his way to Venice, looking at palazzos, trying to buy one as a surprise. By then, she was tired of surprises, houses, decorators, and more homes than they could ever visit. Blake always had new people to meet, new places to go to, new businesses he wanted to acquire or invest in, new houses he had to build or have, new adventures to embark on. Their lives had become completely disconnected by then, so much so that when Blake flew back after she told him about Sam's accident, she burst into tears when she saw him and said she wanted a divorce. It was all too much. She had sobbed in his arms and said she just couldn't do it anymore.

“Why don't you quit?” he had suggested calmly. “You work too hard. Just concentrate on me and the kids. Why don't we get more help, and you can fly around with me.” He hadn't taken her request for a divorce seriously at first. They loved each other. Why would they want a divorce?

“If I did that,” she said miserably, burrowed into his chest, “I'd never see my kids, just like you don't anymore. When was the last time you were home for more than two weeks?” He thought about it and looked blank. She had a point, although he was embarrassed to admit it.

“Gosh, Max, I don't know. I never think about it like that.”

“I know you don't.” She cried harder and blew her nose. “I don't even know where you are anymore. I couldn't find you for days when Sam got hurt. What if he died? Or I did? You wouldn't even know.”

“I'm sorry, baby, I'll try to stay in better touch. I just figure you have everything in control.” He was happy to leave her in charge while he played.

“I do. But I'm tired of doing it alone. Instead of telling me to quit, why don't you stop traveling so much and stay home?” She had little hope of it, but she tried.