The Answer He Owed Her

"What did you want?" Audrey asked.

"You."

The answer came immediately.

She stared at him.

Julian's thumb rested against her cheek, still and warm. "Before the agreement. Before this house. Before you started thanking me for things a husband should do without being thanked."

"You never told me."

"Would you have believed me?"

"You didn't give me the chance."

He accepted that with a small movement of his jaw.

"Then I'm giving you one now."

He kissed her, slowly enough that she had time to turn away. She didn't. But when his hand moved to her waist, she caught it.

"You can't answer everything like this."

"No," he said against her forehead. "But I can answer that."

Audrey stepped back, needing space to think while she could still remember how.

You.

It was not I love you. She knew better than to pretend it was. But it wasn't convenience, either, and the difference made her knees unsteady.

She folded her arms.

"How long?"

"Long enough."

"That's not an answer."

"You asked what I wanted. You didn't ask for a chronology."

The familiar arrogance should have annoyed her. It did. It also restored something she recognized after days of silence and fear.

"I could still leave," she said.

His face changed.

"I know."

"And wanting me doesn't give you the right to threaten me about Poppy."

He looked toward the stairs.

"I was trying to keep you from taking my entire life out through that door."

She let the sentence reach her before answering.

"Then say that. Don't tell me what I can take and what you can keep."

Julian came closer again, stopping before she had to move.

"Would saying it have changed anything?"

"It would have changed what I thought you were asking."

He looked tired suddenly, and she noticed he was holding himself too carefully.

"Sit down," she said.

"I'm fine."

"You've been standing like it hurts since you came in."

"Long flight."

She didn't believe him, but he sat.

Audrey brought his coat to the chair, intending to hang it up. A medication packet slipped from the inside pocket.

She picked it up.

The hospital label was impossible to misunderstand.

"Julian."

He closed his eyes briefly.

"It was an ulcer."

"You were hospitalized?"

"For observation and treatment."

"While I thought you wouldn't speak to me?"

"I couldn't during the procedure. Afterward, I was sleeping."

"And Miles couldn't tell me?"

"I asked him not to worry you."

She stared at him, anger rising through the relief.

"I thought you'd decided I wasn't worth answering."

He reached for her hand. She let him take it, but didn't soften her voice.

"I lay in your bed wondering if you'd ever come back."

His fingers closed around hers.

"Our bed."

"Don't correct the least important part."

"It isn't the least important part to me."

He pulled her hand toward his mouth and kissed her knuckles. The tenderness made her want to cry, which annoyed her enough to keep the tears back.

"You're going to see a doctor here," she said.

"Tomorrow."

"Tonight."

"Audrey—"

"You told me what you wanted. Now I'm telling you what I want. Put your shoes back on."

For a moment, he just looked at her.

Then he smiled. Not the cold expression he gave rivals. Something private and helplessly pleased.

"Bossy."

"You married me. You'll have to live with it."

The smile disappeared, leaving an expression she couldn't afford to study too closely.

"That's the plan."

At the hospital, she called home to check on Poppy and remained while Julian was examined. The physician recommended admission to stabilize his recovery after the rushed return.

He began to object.

Audrey set his phone on the bed.

"I have no interest in becoming your widow before I decide whether I'm staying your wife."

The doctor hid a smile behind her chart.

Julian looked at Audrey.

"You can be vicious when you try."

"Eat something and I'll try less."

She went home after he agreed to rest, but his answer stayed with her all night.

You.

She remembered the way he had looked at her suitcase. The way his voice changed when he said Ryan's name. All the things she had mistaken for irritation might have been something else.

She refused to build a whole future on one word.

Still, the next morning, she found herself choosing a blouse he liked before realizing what she was doing.

At the studio, Elise showed her the retraction Sophie had posted and the archived messages recovered from an old university account. The design case was no longer only Audrey's word against a surviving sketch.

The café recording also gave their lawyers a starting point for the photograph campaign.

Audrey approved the statement herself. It named her as the designer targeted by interference, rather than a billionaire's wife caught in a misunderstanding.

When she finished, she sent Julian the link.

His reply came within a minute.

I knew you could do it.

She looked at the message longer than necessary.

Then another appeared.

Have you eaten?

She laughed under her breath.

Don't start, she typed. You're the one in a hospital.

I'm being fed. Unfortunately.

She sent a photograph of her lunch.

He replied with a picture of his own tray and one word.

Tragic.

It was ridiculous that such an ordinary exchange could feel more intimate than some of the nights they'd shared.

She asked whether the doctor would discharge him the next day. He replied that she sounded impatient.

I am, she typed.

The three dots appeared, vanished, then appeared again.

For me or for the end of hospital visits?

Audrey looked toward the open studio door, where Elise was sorting invoices. Nobody could see her screen. There was no reason to hide behind a practical answer.

For you.

He called instead of replying.

She let it ring twice, smiling at her own cowardice, then answered with his name.

Audrey finished work early and stopped at a bakery. Poppy chose plain rolls for Daddy because complicated food might make his tummy angry.

With the bag in her hand, Audrey approached the hospital room.

Through the glass, she saw Harriet Bennett seated beside the bed.

Harriet was holding Julian's hand.

Audrey stopped.

The room had a second chair, but suddenly she couldn't imagine where she belonged.