Chapter 11
Take Hannah with you
Cecily
I climb the stairs to check on Alicia. She’s been fighting a cold since yesterday, spending most of the day curled up beneath her blankets.
I find her buried there, all tucked in on herself in the middle of the bed. When I reach to pull the covers back and touch her forehead, she whimpers, curling in on herself.
“M-mommy… t-too cold.”
The heat radiating from her skin nearly stops my heart.
I grab the thermometer from her nightstand, my fingers clumsy as I lift it and aim it at her forehead. I wait, counting the seconds, willing the numbers not to climb.
They do.
104°F.
For a moment, everything inside me goes very still. Then the panic rises—but I don’t let it take hold.
Ignoring her weak protests, I help her to her feet and guide her into the bathroom.
I ease the dress down her body, kick off my shoes, and step into the shower with her, adjusting the water until it’s lukewarm.
I stay close, one hand braced against her back, the other steadying her as she clings to me—arms tight around my waist, trembling and coughing—while the water runs over her, cooling her skin little by little.
A while later, I wrap her in a robe, peel off my soaked clothes, wrap myself in a towel, and move quickly.
Drying her with brisk, careful motions, pulling fresh pajamas over her shoulders.
I give her the appropriate dose of Tylenol, watching closely as she swallows with effort.
All the while, Alicia remains limp against me, her body heavy, her eyes barely opening.
I settle her back against the headboard and call for Ethan.
He’s upstairs in less than a minute, worry already written across his face.
“Honey,” I say, keeping my voice steady, “stay here with your sister. I’ll get dressed and take her to the hospital. Her fever’s too high… and I don’t like that cough.”
He doesn’t hesitate. He crosses the room and slips an arm around Alicia as she leans weakly against the headboard.
“I’ll drive you, Mom,” he says. “We’ll get her there fast.”
My chest tightens at the certainty in his voice. I kiss the top of his head, gratitude steadying me, and hurry to change.
The next half hour blurs together. Alicia is buckled into the backseat beside me, her breathing shallow, her head lolling against my shoulder. Ethan’s hands stay steady on the wheel as he drives as fast as he dares.
I keep dialing Colin. Once. Twice. Again.
Nothing.
“He’s not picking up?” Ethan asks, catching my reflection in the rearview mirror.
I shake my head. “Probably in a meeting.”
His jaw tightens, his knuckles whitening around the steering wheel, but he doesn’t comment. For that, I’m grateful.
At the hospital, they take Alicia immediately.
As the doctors begin their examination, I step aside just long enough to text Colin, telling him what happened and that we’re at the same hospital we always go to when needed.
My fingers shaking now that there’s nothing left to do but wait. And hope he comes.
About three hours later, the door bursts open and Colin strides into the room, completely disheveled.
“I just saw your text a little while ago. I don’t think I’ve ever crossed Manhattan this fast,” he says in a single breath. “How is she?”
Worry lines his face as he moves instinctively toward Alicia, reaching to brush her cheek.
“Colin,” I say gently, “you should sanitize your hands first.”
He freezes, glancing down at his palms as if only now noticing them, then nods and heads straight for the bathroom without another word.
“She has early signs of pneumonia,” I explain once he returns. “They’ve already started medication. They’ll keep her overnight for observation, and if everything continues as expected, she’ll be discharged tomorrow with antibiotics to continue at home.”
He lowers himself into the chair beside her bed, careful and reverent, as though afraid even the air might disturb her. He takes her hand in his, thumb brushing over her knuckles, and presses a kiss there before lifting his eyes to mine.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner,” he says, his voice low. “My phone was on silent during meetings. I didn’t see your calls.”
I exhale and give him a tired half-smile. “I know. You would’ve come earlier if you could.”
Some of the tension leaves his shoulders, though guilt still lingers in his expression. It isn’t the first time one of our children has landed us in a hospital room, and I doubt it will be the last. But I don’t think any parent ever truly grows accustomed to it, no matter the age of their children.
The door opens again, and Ethan steps inside, balancing two paper bags of dinner. The moment he spots his father, his mouth tightens.
“Oh. So you decided to show up.”
Before Colin can respond, I lift my hand.
“Don’t,” I say quietly. “Not now. Alicia needs rest. She’s all that matters.”
Ethan holds my gaze for a moment, then nods, biting back whatever else he might’ve said.
An hour later, he heads home, leaving Colin and me alone in the dimly lit room. He insists on staying. I don’t argue.
I lean back against him on the narrow sofa, exhaustion finally catching up to me. That’s when I notice it—a faint trace of perfume. Sweet. Unfamiliar. It clings to him just enough to register.
I mention it lightly, almost absentmindedly.
He immediately gets to his feet. “I’ve been in and out of meetings all day,” he says. “Shaking hands with half the city. It could’ve rubbed off from anyone.”
He shrugs off his jacket and unbuttons his dress shirt, leaving only the undershirt beneath, then sits back down beside me. Now it’s only his familiar scent filling the space.
I settle against him again, more comfortably this time, and close my eyes.
There will be time for everything else later.
For now, the only thought I allow myself is Alicia. Her breathing. Her recovery. The steady rise and fall of her chest beneath the hospital blankets.
Everything else can wait.
We make it home before noon the next day.
Alicia is visibly better, though her body still needs rest and steady fluids.
Colin carries her upstairs and settles her gently into bed.
When he says he’ll stay with her until she falls asleep, until he’s sure she doesn’t need anything else, I retreat to our bedroom, intent on taking a long, hot shower.
I’m under the spray when he slips in beside me.
We don’t speak. We just hold each other beneath the warm spray, clinging to the familiar comfort of skin and breath and shared relief. For a long while, it’s enough.
The rest of the day unfolds peacefully. We dote on Alicia, curled up together in the family room, watching her favorite movies on repeat.
When Colin tells her he isn’t going to work—that he’s staying home with her instead—the look on her face does more for her recovery than any medication ever could.
I take it all in. Alicia nestled against her father’s chest. Ethan curled up at my side, feet tangled with mine.
My world feels complete.
This is how it should always be.
Later that night, as we settle into our bedroom, Colin breaks the silence.
“Do you think your mom would mind staying with Alicia this weekend?”
I turn to him, puzzled.
“The awards ceremony,” he adds. “Saturday. In Miami. Montgomery Clifford is one of the nominees.”
I close my eyes and let out a sigh. “I know. It just slipped my mind with everything that’s been happening.” I pause, then meet his gaze. “Colin, I can’t go. Even if the doctor says she’s out of danger, even with my mom here, she’s still on antibiotics. I want to stay close.”
He cups my face in his hands, his tone calm, measured. “If this were anything more serious, I wouldn’t go either. But with Jonathan out of the country, there’s no one else to step in. I can’t miss this.”
“I know,” I say softly. “You’ll go. And you’ll be back on Sunday, just like we agreed.”
Wanting to ease his guilt—and knowing how much he despises navigating those events alone—I add, “Take Hannah with you. She’s much better at handling those things than I am.”
He studies me for a long moment, his eyes searching my face.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” he asks. “You still have all of Friday to decide. By Saturday morning, Alicia will already be feeling much better.”
“I’m sure,” I reply. “I’ll stay with Alicia. And you’ll take Hannah—who, as head of PR, will represent the company perfectly.”
He leans in and presses a soft kiss to my lips before gathering me into his arms. I settle against him, closing my eyes, letting his touch ground me.
Maya
"Maya. My office."
Colin's voice is low, clipped, as he strides past my desk Friday morning. I gather my things quickly, knock three times on the half-open door, and step inside.
"Close the door," he says before I can take another step.
My stomach knots. After the way he bolted from the office the moment he came out of the bathroom—after I'd ridden him hard on the couch, left raw and undone in the wreckage of it—and then vanished all of yesterday with nothing but a single email instructing me to cancel and reschedule his meetings, no explanation at all.
.. I hadn't expected him to come looking for me again so soon.
"Change of plans." His tone leaves no room for negotiation. "You're coming with me to Miami. Make the arrangements and book yourself a room on the same floor as mine."
The sudden rush in my chest is almost painful. My heart pounds so violently I fear it might crack my ribs.
He pulls his wallet from his jacket, slides out his black card, and holds it out to me. "Buy something suitable for the event. Price doesn't matter."
“I can buy my own,” I snap, sharper than I intend. The memory of the last time he shoved money at me still lingers. “I told you—if there’s a dress you want to see me in, then buy it yourself. That, I’ll accept.”
He smirks, but doesn't lower his hand. "Then pick something I'll want to see you wearing, and it'll be the same as if I'd chosen it for you."
I can't help the slow smile that curves my lips as I take the card from him.
We land in Miami right on schedule.
The driver is already waiting, and while he loads our luggage, Colin tells me he'll be right back. Less than ten minutes later, he returns, carrying a discreet shopping bag. Without a word, he slips it into his carry-on just as the car pulls away.
He keeps his distance the entire ride, silent, his expression unreadable.
At the hotel, we head to our separate rooms, agreeing to meet later in the lobby before the event.
I spend the entire afternoon preparing. A massage, hair, makeup. I want to look my best. I want to look my best for him.
When I finally turn toward the mirror, I catch my own reflection and smile, already anticipating Colin’s reaction. I tuck my phone into my clutch and leave the room, step into the elevator, and go down.
He’s already in the lobby, scrolling through his phone. But the moment the elevator doors open, he looks up—and the phone is forgotten.
I’m wearing a royal blue satin gown. The beaded bodice fits close, catching the light, while the skirt falls fluidly, parting at a daring slit that reveals my left leg as I walk.
My hair is swept to one side in soft waves, held in place by platinum combs shaped like delicate crystal vines. High heels finish the look.
Colin’s eyes travel with intent from the daring slit of the gown up to the neckline, lingering just long enough before they flick upward to meet mine.
I let him take it all in. Then I walk toward him, unhurried, giving him every chance to drink me in.
"You..." he starts, his voice rougher than usual, caught off guard. "You look... stunning."
I smile, unabashed. “Is this a dress you’d like to see me in?”
He studies me again, silent. He doesn't need to speak, his eyes say it all.
He gestures toward the door. I fall into step beside him, shivering slightly when his hand brushes the small of my back. Only for him to pull it away an instant later, as though he remembered he shouldn't.
I don't dwell on it. I'm here with him. That's all that matters.
The venue is only fifteen minutes away. We arrive before I’m ready. And when Colin stops short of the red carpet, I have to remind myself again of what matters most.
"You go ahead," he says quietly. Then he steps alone onto the flashing strip of lights, photographers calling his name, his tall frame filling out the tux perfectly.
I watch from the sidelines, breath caught in my throat. His presence commands the space effortlessly, his composure unshakable.
Inside, he's immediately surrounded. To those who notice me, he introduces me as his assistant. To anyone asking about his wife, he explains with calm detachment—she stayed in New York with their daughter, who was unwell, and he'll be returning to them soon.
So that's why he brought me.
It should sting. But it doesn't. Not enough to matter.
The night passes in a blur of handshakes and business conversations. Colin hands me a glass of white wine, quietly reminding me not to drink too much. He doesn’t indulge either, nursing a single glass of whiskey for most of the evening.
I keep mostly to myself, exchanging polite words with a few other assistants and the more approachable wives. The rest, all judging eyes and vicious tongues, barely register.
Then Colin is called to the stage, as Montgomery Clifford is announced as the winner of Transaction of the Year.
And I'm spellbound.
The room listens, silent and reverent. He's magnetic… confidence wrapped in tailored black and power in every word. The women watching him with hunger don't faze me. I know where he'll be tonight.
With me.
Later, once he finally shakes off the last of the sycophants, he comes straight to me. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes flick briefly to the empty space around us.
In a low voice meant only for me, he says, "We leave in half an hour. Wait for me in your room. And take that dress off first... unless you want a repeat of the last one."
My pulse leaps, dizzying. Half an hour. I count the minutes, my mind spinning with every possibility.