Chapter 43
Dahlia
I towel my hair one more time and give up.
It’s dry enough. Xander’s shirt hangs to mid-thigh, soft and a little too big, smelling faintly of him.
The memory of last night sits warm in my chest. The way he looked at me when he said it.
The way I answered before I even thought about the words, loving him back like the words had been waiting.
A noise pulls me out of it. A soft glide, like a heavy hinge moving. I step into the bedroom and freeze. The full-length mirror on the far wall is not a mirror at all. It’s open on a seam I never noticed, pushed wide to reveal a hidden doorway and a slice of another room flooded with light.
“Xander?”
“In here.”
I cross the rug and slip through. My breath catches. The room is lined floor to ceiling with shelves of books. The ceiling peaks high above, white beams crossing like ribs. A huge arched window takes up the end wall, and morning sun pours through it in bright bands.
A soft rug cushions my bare feet. Every piece of furniture looks made for comfort. Deep sofas, wide chairs, a knitted throw draped over an armrest.
“Like what you see?” Xander’s voice comes from the window. I drag my gaze from the books and find him standing there with a plant in his hands. He’s barefoot, sleeves pushed to his forearms. The sight makes my chest tighten.
Dangerous, but domestic.
“What is this place?” I walk toward him slowly because I want to take it in.
“It is a morning room,” he says, like it’s completely normal.
“Is that a rich people thing?”
He smirks. “You’re still saying ‘rich people’ like that doesn’t include you.”
“That’s because it doesn’t.”
“It does now. Should I move it all into an account under your name?”
“That’s really not necessary—”
“I’ll have the account taken care of today.” The look he’s giving me dares me to see what will happen if I keep denying it.
My mouth snaps shut, not wanting to get into any more trouble than I already am.
He glances down at the plant in his hands and back up again.
“These like morning light. I checked. East-facing window.” He points, then gestures at the tiered stands.
“I thought they would do well here. The humidity stays higher by the window, and the temperature is even. This peace lily was yellowing, so I repotted and added perlite. The rosemary should stay closer to the light.”
He’s rambling and doesn’t even realize it, which only makes me smile. His face goes intent and soft all at once, like he’s trying to get the right answer on a critical test.
I look down at the plant he’s holding, its long dark leaves shaped like hearts. I recognize it instantly. It’s the same little plant that kept me company while I was in hiding. “Is that the one from Houlton?”
“It is.” He steps closer. “I thought it would be better up here with you.”
It used to be sad and a little scraggly.
Now, it spills over its pot. New leaves unfurl pale green, then darken at the edges.
I reach out and hook a finger under one leaf.
It’s cool and firm. My chest pulls tight at the memory of my hands shaking in that cramped apartment, whispering to this plant like a crazy person while the house felt like a trap. I was a little straggly then too.
“How did you know this one was my favorite?”
He doesn’t look away. “Because I know you.”
“You caught me talking to it, did you not?”
He laughs under his breath, brushing my hair behind my ear. “You talk to all your plants.”
I roll my eyes and take the pot from him. “Not true. Some get the silent treatment.” I kiss him quickly and carry it to the highest tier, where it catches the light.
A knock sounds behind us. “Food’s here,” Becca calls, voice bright. The door swings wider, and she comes in with a tray balanced on her hands like a pro.
Becca sets the tray on the low table in front of the sofa. “I brought pastries, fruit, and coffee. Also, yogurt and honey. If you say no to the croissants, I will cry.”
She looks up at me as she straightens, and her gaze pauses at my neck. Heat flashes over my skin. Xander left a map there last night.
Her mouth curves. “How’s married life?”
“Blissful,” Xander answers before I can. He slides an arm around me and kisses the top of my head.
Becca’s eyes shine like she wants to squeal, but she bites it back. She’s been trying to get me to fall for him since day one. I will never hear the end of it. “You two have fun,” she says, already halfway out the door.
As soon as she’s gone, Xander buries his face against my neck, breathing me in. His hands slide down my thighs, fingers warm and sure. One hand slips beneath the hem of his shirt and rests over my stomach, the other holding me close.
“You hungry?” His mouth brushes my skin, and I know he doesn’t mean food.
My stomach answers with a loud growl. He stops and laughs against my shoulder. The sound is low and pleased.
“Food first,” he says and lets me go. He steals two pillows from the chairs and shakes out the knitted throw, then pats the sofa. “Sit. Eat.”
I curl up while he sets out the tray. The first sip of coffee is heaven. The croissant flakes melt on my tongue. Xander sits beside me, lifts my legs into his lap, and starts massaging my feet. His thumbs press into the arches, and a low hum slips out of me before I can catch it.
“Good?” His eyes are on my feet, not my face. He’s concentrating like he’s solving a problem.
“Hmm, so good,” I say.
He smiles without looking up. “Noted.”
We stay like that for a while. I eat bites of fruit and pastry, drink coffee, and let him work the tight places out of my feet and calves. Morning light keeps climbing across the rug.
“Don’t you have to work?” I finally ask.
“I took the day off.”
“I thought you had some big deal happening.”
He presses his thumb into my arch, eyes still closed. “Canceled it.”
I sit up a little. “Canceled it, canceled it?”
“Canceled it.” He opens his eyes then and drags his hands higher to my knees, slowly on purpose. He looks pleased with himself.
I swallow a smile and refuse to give him the reaction he’s fishing for. “That’s not very responsible for the boss.”
He gives me a look that says he hears me and also that he plans to ignore me.
When the tray is more crumbs than food, I set it on the table.
“Done?”
“Uh-huh.”
My gaze catches on the chessboard across the room. Last time I saw it, half the pieces were scattered like someone quit mid-game. Now, they’re perfectly lined up.
“You know how to play?” he asks.
“Are you any good?” I consider telling him that my grandmother played with me when I was a kid, and that I am better than good, but stop when he continues, looking a little too smug.
“Don’t worry. I’m a pretty good teacher.”
The words make heat crawl up my neck. I remember exactly what happened the last time he said that.
“I’ll go easy on you,” he says.
“Will you?” I say. We sit cross-legged on the floor, the board between us. Every one of his moves is neat, bold, rehearsed. I make a few sloppy plays on purpose, letting him think he’s in control.
He lifts an eyebrow. I pretend I don’t notice.
I play one more odd move to sweeten the pot.
“Careful.” He warns me not to make a move. I make it anyway. He captures it and frowns at his own move like he’s ashamed of himself for being mean.
I hold back a laugh.
“I told you not to do that,” he says.
“You did,” I say and slide my rook across the back rank. “Checkmate.”
His eyes cut to the corner of the board, where my sleepy rook woke up in one move. He checks his king and the paths around it. His bishop is pinned. His knight is out of position. His queen is miles away.
He stares at the board, then at me, and sighs. “Did you just swindle me?”
I smile sweetly. “Didn’t I win because you were going easy on me?”
He lunges forward, laughing, sending the chessboard skidding away. I shriek as he catches me around the waist and pins me against the sofa. His laughter vibrates against my skin as he kisses my cheek, my jaw, the corner of my mouth.
“I love you,” he murmurs, forehead pressed to mine.
My heart swells so fast it hurts. His eyes are silver in the light and soft in a way I never thought I would see. I slide my hand up the back of his neck and pull him in. “Love you too.”
A knock hits the door.
Xander groans. “What?”
“Sir,” a voice calls from the hall. “If we don’t leave now, you will be late.”
“I told you to clear my schedule.”
There’s a long pause. “I am sorry, sir,” the voice tries again, thinner, “but I thought you may have forgotten which meeting…”
Xander lifts off me with a sound that’s not quite a growl and sits up straight. I tug the throw over my legs like a shield and scoot upright. The door opens a fraction. It’s the young assistant I’ve seen in the hall. He glances at me and turns pink all the way to his ears.
“It’s the Vayden Group deal,” he says, voice small. “If you don’t go, it will be a full backout. Legal said that means we lose position. It’s a five-hundred-million acquisition.”
“I’m aware,” Xander replies, calm as ice. “You’ve done your job. Now, go.”
The assistant nods and vanishes.
I keep staring at the empty doorway, the number bouncing around my skull. Five hundred million. I can’t even picture that. My stomach drops and then flips. I kick Xander’s hip with my foot.
“You’re going.”
He blinks up at me. “No.”
“Yes.” I plant my heels against his thigh and push until he slants enough that I can get up. I stand in front of him with the throw clutched to my chest and point toward the door. “Go make your half a billion dollars.”
He leans back, amused. “You giving me orders in my own house?”
“Common sense,” I shoot back. “I’m not going to be the reason you miss out on this deal.”
His mouth tightens, the humor fading from his eyes. “You will never be the reason I lose something. Not money. Not anything.”
“That’s sweet,” I say and step closer so he has to look up at me. “But it’s not how this works. You can love me and still go to work. You can love me and still show up for the deals you built. I’m not a crisis you have to manage. I am a person who is going to be here when you get back. So go.”
“I don’t like leaving you.”
His mouth softens into what suspiciously looks like a pout.
“I’m surrounded by plants and books. I’ll survive.”
He studies me for a moment, then stands and fixes the blanket around my shoulders. “Text me if you need anything.”
“I’ll text you every plant in this room if you don’t leave in two minutes.”
His mouth curves in spite of himself. “Threats now?”
“Motivation.” I reach past him and grab the empty coffee cup. “Go make five hundred million dollars. Bring me back another croissant.”
“I’ll bring you the bakery.” He says it like another fact, then sobers. His hands frame my face for one long breath. “I love you.”
I feel it again, low and steady, like a new center of gravity. “I love you too. Now, go.”
He kisses me once more, soft and careful, then steps back.
“Eat,” he says.
“Work,” I say back.
He laughs under his breath and disappears down the hall.
The house settles into quiet. I put the chess pieces back, water the rosemary, and tell the plant he’ll be home soon. I believe it.
The air smells like dirt and basil and something sharp and green.
Rows of herbs stretch in front of me, leaves glinting under the greenhouse lights.
I trail my fingers over a tray of mint, trying not to smile too widely.
Marco’s watching me from the end of the row with his hands in his pockets, pretending to browse, but his head’s on a swivel like always.
“You know,” he says, picking up a pot and turning it around, “you look suspiciously happy for someone who made me swear to keep this low-profile.”
I glance over my shoulder. “Low-profile is relative. You’re the size of a refrigerator, and the other three keep pretending to check price tags on succulents that cost more than my rent used to be. I’d say we’re doing great.”
He laughs. “Still, haven’t seen you smile like that.”
I can’t help it. “It’s nice to be outside. Doing something normal. It’s been a while.”
He nods and lets me wander. I stop at a rack of terra cotta pots and pick one up, feeling the warm roughness against my palms. For the first time in a long time, I feel almost ordinary.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I already know who it is before I look.
Xander:
You haven’t caused any international incidents yet, have you?
Me:
Who, me? Never.
Xander:
Be good.
Me:
You’re bossy, you know that?
Xander:
You like it.
Me:
Debatable.
Xander:
You’re smiling.
Me:
I’m rolling my eyes.
Xander:
Same thing.
I can feel the smile tugging at my mouth before I even put the phone away.
Marco catches it and groans. “God, you’re doing that thing again.”
“What thing?”
“That face. The heart-eyes face. I’ve worked with him for years and never thought I’d see someone manage to soften that man. You’re a miracle, Dahlia.”
I roll my eyes, but the warmth stays. “You’re dramatic.”
“Maybe. But it’s nice to see.”
I turn back to the plants. For a moment, I picture the morning room back at the house, light pouring through the window, Xander adorably rambling about plants. I miss him. Ridiculous, since he’s only been gone a few hours, but the thought lands heavily anyway.
A prickle creeps along the back of my neck. The fine hairs stand up. It feels like eyes are on me. I straighten and scan the aisle.
Nothing. Just a mother with a stroller and a guy in a denim jacket, talking on his phone. The guards hover nearby, subtle as neon signs.
I rub my arm, shaking it off. “Paranoid,” I mutter under my breath.
Marco catches my tone. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I grab a bag of soil and add it to the cart. “Thought I saw someone I knew, but it’s fine.”
He studies me for a second too long, then nods. “If you’re ready, we can head to the next stop.”
“Yeah.” I try to sound normal. “There’s a little flower shop I want to see, and maybe the café next door. They make those fancy lavender lattes.”
He smirks. “So, coffee, pastries, and plants. You’re predictable.”
“Consistent,” I correct.
As we move toward the register, I check my phone again. One new text.
Xander:
Counting the minutes.
The words make my chest ache in the best way. I text back before I can overthink it.
Me:
Don’t rush. I’m fine. Promise.
I slide the phone into my bag, but the uneasy feeling lingers.
I remind myself that Elliot is gone. Dead. Xander made sure of it.
There’s no one left to hurt me.
So why does it still feel like something’s watching?