Chapter 2 — A Door Between Us

“I gave her my car.”

Nate’s eyes stayed on the screen.

“Where was she going?”

“She didn’t tell me.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“I asked whether she had somewhere safe. She said yes.”

“And that was enough?”

“She was frightened.”

“Of me?”

The question was quieter than the others.

I remembered Sophie sitting on the floor, her dress hanging untouched behind her. She had kept rubbing her palms over her knees.

“I can’t do this. You don’t understand what happens if I stay.”

I hadn’t understood. I had only known that making her walk downstairs would be wrong.

“She was frightened of getting married,” I said.

Nate slipped his phone into his pocket.

“Did you plan this?”

“The wedding?”

“The replacement.”

I stared at him.

“You think I sent her away so I could take her place?”

“I don’t know you.”

“Then you should have considered that before kissing me in front of two hundred people.”

His gaze flickered to my mouth.

The memory made my skin warm. I resented it.

“I considered the options available.”

“So did I.”

“What did Sophie promise you?”

That hurt more than I expected.

I pulled the loose ring from my finger and held it out.

“Take it.”

His attention dropped to my hand.

“Audrey.”

“If you think I bought my way into this with her fear, take it.”

He didn’t move.

From the ballroom, someone laughed too loudly. Guests were recovering their manners. Soon they would recover their appetite for gossip.

Nate took the ring.

For a moment, his fingertips rested against my palm.

“I’ll have it sized,” he said.

“I’m going home.”

“We need to finish the evening.”

“You need to stop accusing me.”

He looked toward the ballroom, then back at me.

A long breath moved through his chest.

“All right.”

“All right what?”

“I won’t ask again tonight.”

It wasn’t an apology.

But it gave me enough room to breathe.

We returned to dinner.

He stayed beside me while Sophie’s father demanded explanations. When someone asked how long we had been involved, Nate said, “We’re not discussing that tonight.”

I learned that silence could be useful when it belonged to me.

By the time the last guests left, my feet hurt and my phone held thirty-six unread messages.

Evelyn approached with a champagne flute she hadn’t touched.

“Your things can be collected tomorrow.”

“My apartment isn’t going anywhere.”

“Of course. I only meant—”

“Show me the room.”

Nate did.

Upstairs, two doors stood across a narrow corridor.

He opened the one on the right.

A bed large enough for three people occupied the center. There were pale curtains, fresh water, and a bathroom brighter than my kitchen.

“The door locks from inside,” he said.

I checked.

He noticed.

Something passed across his face, too quickly to read.

“Mine is opposite.”

“Neither of us enters without asking.”

“That was already your condition.”

“I’m making sure you remember.”

“I remember everything.”

I believed him.

He placed a folder on the desk.

“What’s that?”

“A starting proposal.”

I opened it.

Financial arrangements. Confidentiality. Scheduled appearances. A separation plan after twelve months.

At the bottom of one page was a number large enough to pay off every debt I had.

I shut the folder.

“You had this prepared quickly.”

“My attorney has been awake since Sophie disappeared.”

“Does your attorney represent me?”

“No.”

“Then it waits.”

His gaze held mine.

“The business situation won’t.”

“Your lawyer can explain that to mine.”

“Do you have one?”

“By tomorrow, yes.”

For a second, he looked almost amused.

Then he loosened his cuff links.

“You should understand something. This is an arrangement.”

“I understood that downstairs.”

“I don’t want you expecting—”

“Breakfast in bed? Love letters?”

His mouth flattened.

“Something I haven’t offered.”

“You haven’t offered kindness. I won’t accidentally confuse you with a romantic.”

Silence settled between us.

I was suddenly aware of how tired he looked. There was a faint shadow beneath his eyes, and one hand had closed around the cuff link so tightly his knuckles had whitened.

He put it in his pocket.

“Good night, Audrey.”

“Good night.”

He left without touching me.

I locked the door.

Only then did I sit down.

My phone held one message from Sophie.

I’m safe. I’m sorry.

I called.

Voicemail.

I wrote: I stood beside him tonight. Call me.

The message remained unread.

By nine the next morning, I had found Mara Lewis through the legal clinic that had helped me negotiate my first apartment lease.

She listened without interrupting.

At the end, she said, “You need your own advice before you formalize anything.”

“I know.”

“And a clear account of what you actually want.”

That was harder.

I wanted Sophie safe.

I wanted my job.

I wanted to walk into a room without being evaluated for the part I had played in someone else’s disaster.

I wasn’t sure a contract could give me any of that.

At eleven, Mara joined a video call with Nate’s attorney.

I sat at Nate’s office desk, across from him.

He wore a white shirt with the sleeves rolled back. Without his jacket, the room seemed more intimate than it should have.

I concentrated on the document.

“No blanket prohibition on speaking to anyone,” Mara said.

“Our concern is confidential commercial information,” his attorney replied.

“Then specify commercial information.”

Nate looked at me.

“Agreed.”

“No restriction on her employment or ordinary social life.”

“Agreed.”

“Appearance obligations must have a limit.”

“Six a month,” his attorney proposed.

“Two,” I said.

Nate lifted an eyebrow.

“Three.”

“Two, plus anything I choose to attend.”

His gaze lingered.

“Fine.”

We worked through finances, living arrangements, and what would happen if either of us ended the cooperation early.

I asked for moving costs and payment for time spent at required events. I refused a reward contingent on obedience.

Nate watched me more closely after that.

When the call ended, Mara requested another private conversation before I signed.

Nate stood.

“I’ll give you the room.”

At the doorway, he stopped.

“Your work can continue.”

“That wasn’t yours to give me.”

He glanced back.

“No,” he said. “It wasn’t.”

The acknowledgment was so small that I almost distrusted it.

By late afternoon, with independent advice and the necessary arrangements completed, we had formalized the marriage privately.

There were no flowers.

No loose ring.

Nate had returned it to me in a small box, properly fitted.

This time, I put it on myself.

That evening, I stood by my bedroom window and answered an unfamiliar number.

“Hello?”

A woman laughed.

“Is this the new Mrs. Blackwell?”

“Who’s calling?”

“Does he know where you learned to play house?”

Another voice murmured something. More laughter.

I hung up.

My phone immediately lit up with a link.

The article carried a photograph from the ceremony.

Beneath it, someone had written about the girl who had moved between foster homes before discovering a better address.

I read until one sentence stopped me.

She once slept with her shoes on because she believed another placement would collect her before morning.

The room blurred.

I had told Sophie that story on our dorm-room floor at two in the morning.

I had never written it down.

Nobody from my childhood knew why I had done it.

I crossed the corridor and knocked.

Nate opened his door in a dark T-shirt.

“What happened?”

I held up my phone.

His expression changed as he read.

“Who called you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Give me the number.”

I pulled the phone back.

“Don’t make this disappear before I know where it came from.”

His gaze returned to my face.

For once, he didn’t argue.

“What do you need?”

I looked at the article again.

At the detail I had once trusted to someone who loved me.

“I need to know how they got this.”