Chapter 23
There was no plan.
That was probably why I managed to say it.
Alexander stood near the windows reading a secure message. I had been pretending to read for ten minutes and absorbing nothing.
“Alexander.”
He looked up.
“Can we talk?”
He set the phone down.
“Of course.”
My courage nearly failed then.
I made myself continue.
“I know what this marriage is. I know why we agreed. I know the contract has an end date.”
His face became very still.
“Grace.”
“Please let me finish.”
He did.
I folded my hands so he would not see them shake.
“I didn’t mean for this to happen. I thought you were terrifying. Then I thought you were confusing. Then I started noticing things. You remember what people need. You show up. You make everything safer without asking for credit. And somewhere in all of that…”
My throat tightened.
“I’m falling in love with you.”
The room seemed to stop moving.
Alexander did not speak.
That silence hurt more than I expected.
“You don’t have to say it back,” I added quickly. “I just couldn’t keep pretending I felt nothing.”
He turned toward the windows.
For several seconds I saw only his reflection in the glass.
“Do you know what happens to people close to men in my position?” he asked.
“What?”
“They become information. Leverage. Targets.”
I swallowed.
“The attack scenarios we plan for are not theoretical. Some people would use a wife to reach me.”
“I’m already your wife.”
His jaw tightened.
“On paper.”
The words cut.
He turned back immediately, as if he regretted them.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
He came closer but stopped before touching me.
“If I let this become real, I will have something I cannot treat as expendable. Something an enemy could use against my judgment.”
“You think not loving me keeps me safe?”
“I think distance gives me options.”
I laughed once, but there was no humour in it.
“That sounds like strategy, not life.”
“My life is strategy.”
“Mine isn’t.”
He closed his eyes briefly.
When he opened them, the control was back.
“I cannot give you what you want tonight.”
I nodded because if I spoke, I would cry.
“And Grace—”
I stopped at the door.
His voice lowered.
“Do not wait for me.”
I went to Mia’s apartment after midnight.
She opened the door, saw my face, and pulled me inside without asking questions.
I cried into her shoulder until I was embarrassed by the amount of water one body could produce.
When I told her what he had said, she listened without interrupting.
Then she handed me tissues.
“He asked you not to wait.”
“Yes.”
“Then don’t.”
I stared at her.
“I’m not telling you to stop loving him. You can’t switch that off. But stop doing all the work. Stop making tea. Stop finding excuses to be in the same room. Stop giving him the comfort of your love while he hides from his.”
It sounded cruel.
It was also the first advice that respected what he had asked for.
So I went home and began learning how to leave my husband alone.
