Chapter 9 — The Things Men Did to Keep Me

Jamie drove while I spoke to the hospital care coordinator.

Ethan had named me as his healthcare representative during his mother's illness. I hadn't remembered the document remained in place after he left the company.

Treatment had already begun. The hospital needed information, not a miracle from me, but that distinction didn't stop my hands shaking.

Jamie took one of them briefly at a red light.

"You're going to see him. That's all you have to do tonight."

At the hospital, I answered questions, spoke with the surgeon, and sat beside Jamie while the minutes became longer than they had any right to be.

Sloane arrived accusing me of driving Ethan to despair.

"You don't know what happened," I said. "Neither do I. Stop deciding what his injuries mean for you."

Security moved her away when she tried to come closer.

Jamie watched her go. His hand remained loose around mine, but his gaze was hard.

By morning, Ethan was stable. I arranged for Owen and Leo, his assistant, to coordinate practical matters, then went outside.

Jamie had found tea.

I took the cup and leaned against the car.

"Are you angry?"

"Yes."

I looked at him.

"Not because you answered the phone," he continued. "Because somebody will try to make you responsible for everything that happened after it."

My mouth tightened. I had already been doing that to myself.

He saw it.

"You left a relationship that made you unhappy. You didn't choose his route home."

I stood quietly until I could believe the sentence enough to get into the car.

Two days later, evidence began to arrive through people who had grown tired of keeping Ethan's secrets.

Before the collision, Sloane had transferred shares and property to him. He had told Leo to ensure that reporters knew I remained his emergency contact.

The hired driver gave investigators messages instructing him to stage a minor collision at an agreed location. The impact had become more serious than either man intended.

I read the account twice, then put it down.

When Ethan could speak to me, I asked him directly.

"Was it planned?"

He stared at the hospital blanket.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this."

I waited.

"I wanted people to see what Sloane had done. I thought if you came, they'd understand you hadn't really given up on me."

"I came because you were hurt."

"I know."

"Do you?"

He looked at me then. Whatever he saw made him turn away again.

"I wanted you to worry," he whispered.

I sat down because remaining on my feet required more anger than I wanted to spend there.

"You had three years of knowing I worried about you. You decided to use it."

He cried without trying to hide it.

I let him.

"When you're able," I said, "you need someone else handling your healthcare decisions. Leo is arranging it with the hospital. Owen will answer professional questions. I won't be coming back to discuss us."

"Vivian."

I stood.

"I hope you recover. I mean that. It isn't an invitation."

Jamie waited outside, holding my coat.

I stood beside him without speaking. The hospital corridor was bright enough to make everyone look exhausted.

He put the coat over one arm and opened the other.

I stepped into it.

For a moment I kept my face against his shirt, angry at Ethan, sad for the person I had believed he was, and ashamed of how much those feelings still hurt.

Jamie didn't ask me to sort them into something simpler.

His hand moved once over my hair.

"Take a minute," he said.

I did.

When I drew back, he didn't look at me for proof that I loved him more. He just put the coat around me and picked up my bag.

That was when I understood the difference between being needed and being held.

I caught his hand before we reached the elevator.

"Thank you for waiting."

He looked down at our fingers.

"I can do that," he said. "As long as you come back to me."

He didn't ask me to repeat what had happened. He walked me to the car, keeping my hand in his.

Halfway home, I noticed white fur on his sleeve.

"Do you have a cat?"

He looked almost guilty.

"Maisie. She's with my housekeeper at my apartment."

"You never told me."

"I wasn't sure how many permanent residents you wanted."

I looked out at the road.

"Take me to meet her."

His apartment was modest from the street and extravagantly devoted to one animal inside. Shelves climbed the walls. A cushioned perch occupied the best window.

Maisie came down from a cat tree, inspected my ankles, and decided I could hold her.

"She likes you," Jamie said.

"She's discerning."

He went to collect her food while I wandered around with her against my chest.

On a shelf, I found a small painting of a red rose.

I recognized Mara Ellis's mark. My creative director had painted commissions before she joined my company. Five years earlier, she had made one for me in London after my first successful pitch.

Beneath this rose she had written: You said she reminded you of this.

"Who bought this?" I asked.

Jamie appeared with a bag of cat food.

"I did."

At least that answer was honest.

"Do you still know Mara?"

"Not well. I could ask about getting you another."

Mara hadn't sold a painting in years.

I put the frame back and didn't challenge him with a suspicion I couldn't yet explain.

We took Maisie home. Jamie settled her in the sunroom while I called Mara.

"For Jules?" she said. "Oh, he still has it?"

"You remember him."

"Richard Ashford's son? Certainly. He was painfully polite about wanting something that reminded him of you."

I sat down.

"Richard's son?"

Mara went quiet.

"Julian. Tessa's cousin. Have I said too much?"

Across the room, Jamie was trying to coax Maisie out of her carrier.

I watched him hold a toy mouse and speak in the same hopeful voice he used when he wanted me to put my work aside.

Miles's presence. Rosemere's response. The street he had saved. The name Jules.

They finally belonged to the same story.

"No," I told Mara. "You've said enough."

She sent me the original commission email. Julian Ashford's name appeared above a request for one rose and a question about whether I would like it.

He had wanted me before I'd noticed him.

He had lied because he thought wanting me gave him the right to choose how I found out.

I put my phone down.

"Jamie," I called.

He looked up, smiling.

"Come here. Bring your real name."