20. Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty
Nicole
Nicole paused outside the closed dining room door and told herself that this was only dinner. That would’ve been easier to believe if her heart had agreed.
The host opened the door, and Alexander stood as she entered.
He wore a dark suit without a tie, his blond hair pushed back from his face.
The private room was quiet and warm, with one table set for two and no cameras waiting beyond the windows.
He looked like the man she’d married and the man she’d left. He also looked nervous.
That was new.
His gaze moved over her, open and hungry for one quick second before he brought it under control.
“You look beautiful,” he said.
“Thank you.” Nicole set her purse next to her chair. “You look like you changed jackets three times.”
His mouth twitched. “Four.”
She hadn’t expected honesty.
“Vicky would’ve stopped you at two,” she teased.
“Vicky is no longer responsible for dressing a forty-year-old man.”
“So, this is what freedom looks like?”
“Apparently, it looks like every jacket I own on my bed.”
Nicole laughed before she could stop herself. Alexander’s own laugh came slowly, as if he didn’t trust the sound yet. He pulled out her chair. The old gesture was so familiar that she almost rested a hand on his shoulder as she sat. Almost.
“Thank you for coming,” he said as he took the chair across from her.
“Thank you for making it private.”
“No photographers, no people pretending not to listen. The staff will knock before they come in.” His fingers settled around his water glass. “If you’d rather leave at any point, the car is waiting.”
“I drove myself.”
“Of course you did.”
There was no frustration in his voice. No offer to send her car home or make her return easier. Just acceptance.
They ordered dinner. The server left and shut the door behind her. The soft click dropped them into silence.
The bread basket sat between them. Alexander picked up the small plate of olives and moved it to his side of the table without asking. Nicole had hated olives for as long as he’d known her. He’d spent years removing them from salads, sandwiches, and one disastrous anniversary pizza in Rome.
“You still do that,” she said.
He glanced at the plate. “You still hate them.”
“What if I’ve changed?”
“Then I’ll give them back.”
“You won’t try to explain why I should like them?”
“I’ve learned not to build a case against my wife’s own tastes.”
She fought a smile. “That lesson took twelve years?”
“Some of us are slow.”
“Painfully.”
He broke a piece of bread and passed her the butter before she reached for it. The movement was small and thoughtless. So was the way Nicole slid the salt toward him when he looked at it. Their bodies still remembered how to share a table even after three months of separate meals.
The ease made her chest ache. It would’ve been simpler if the separation had erased their private habits. Instead, every familiar gesture reminded her that leaving Alexander had required her to pull herself away from a life she still loved.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
He’d noticed. He always noticed her face when he was present. That had never been the problem.
“Yes.” She took a sip of water. “This is strange.”
“Bad strange?”
“I haven’t decided.”
“You don’t have to decide quickly.”
“You’re very calm for a man who tried on four jackets.”
“I’m acting.”
“Poorly.”
“Painfully,” he corrected.
That earned the smile she was trying to hide.
Alexander looked across the table. “How are Susan and Paul feeling?”
“Much better. Mom claims she nearly died. Dad says she had a stuffy nose.”
“Which one is lying?”
“Both, but Mom’s version is more entertaining.”
“And the girls?”
“They were helping Dad build a castle out of couch cushions when I left. Rose was in charge.”
“Then Paul has no chance.”
“Prim tried to warn him, but he didn’t listen.”
“A mistake common among men in this family.”
The joke landed gently between them. Alexander didn’t look away from what it meant. Nicole noticed that too.
He asked about the skincare studio next. Not whether the lease was sound or the equipment had arrived on schedule. He asked what she’d liked most when she stood inside it that week.
Nicole leaned back, surprised. “The treatment rooms.”
“The beds?”
“You remembered.”
“I listen when you talk about it.”
There was no demand hidden inside the answer. He didn’t say he listened now. He didn’t ask her to praise the change.
“The beds are finally uncovered,” she said. “The pale oak storage looks even better than I hoped. It’s clean without feeling cold. And the filming corner gets good light, but I’ll still need the professional lights if I want the videos to look consistent.”
“What does it feel like?”
“Mine.”
Alexander’s expression softened. “Good.”
“That’s all?”
“Would you like a badly informed opinion about your lighting?”
“Not especially.”
“Then good is all.”
Nicole smiled. “You’re learning.”
“Slowly.”
“Painfully.”
“I was trying to be kind to myself.” He smiled.
“I know. That’s why I corrected you.”
He laughed, and this time he didn’t seem startled when she joined him.
“Do you miss it?” Alexander asked.
“What?”
“Working with clients. Not the idea of it. The actual work.”
Nicole looked down at her hands. “Yes. I miss the moment someone realizes her skin isn’t a moral failure. I miss explaining what will help and what won’t. I miss watching people relax once they know I’m not going to sell them a miracle.”
“You were always good at that.”
“You only saw it a few times.”
“I remember all of them.”
She raised a brow. “All?”
“One woman came in with a bag full of products, and you told her to stop using nearly everything.”
“Marissa.” Nicole smiled, remembering.
“She accused you of trying to ruin her life.”
“She sent me flowers two weeks later.”
“With an apology.”
“And a request for the name of my moisturizer.”
Alexander smiled. “You told her she already owned it.”
Nicole stared at him. She’d forgotten he was there for that.
“You remember more than I thought,” she said.
“I remembered the large things and left you alone with the daily ones.” His smile faded. “That isn’t the defense it once sounded like in my head.”
“No,” Nicole said. “It isn’t.”
He nodded and let the truth remain between them without trying to soften it.
Their first course arrived. They talked about the studio while they ate.
Alexander asked how Nicole wanted clients to feel when they walked in.
He listened as she explained that she wanted calm, privacy, and enough time to give honest advice.
He asked how she’d divide treatments and consultations.
When she admitted that she was still working out part of the schedule, he didn’t offer an assistant, a planner, or a studio operations team.
He only said, “You’ll find the pace that works for you.”
It shouldn’t have moved her. It did.
Nicole set down her fork. “You can tell me if this is difficult.”
“What?”
“Watching me build something without you.”
Alexander considered the question instead of rushing to give her the perfect answer.
“It hurts that I wasn’t the husband you could build it with,” he said. “But the studio doesn’t hurt me. I’m proud of you. I also understand why it needed to belong only to you.”
“I don’t know if it needed to.”
“You did.”
Nicole held his gaze. “Yes.”
“Then it did.”
The quiet that followed wasn’t awkward. It was careful, but it held.
When their plates were cleared, Nicole asked, “How did the Daddy sleepover end?”
“With Rose accusing Prim of stealing Captain Purple, Prim arguing that bath boats can’t be stolen because they belong to the bath, and both of them demanding the bear voice.”
“Reasonable.”
“Which part?”
“Rose’s accusation. Prim has a history.”
“I stayed neutral.”
“Coward.”
“I prefer alive.”
Nicole rested her chin on her hand. “Did they eat?”
“Yes. The right meals, the right cups, grapes cut the right way. Hair detangled from the ends. Towels and pajamas ready before the bath.”
“Should I give you a sticker?”
“They gave me six. I don’t require yours.”
She glanced at his jacket. “Where are they?”
“Different jacket.”
Her laugh came out louder than she meant it to. Alexander grinned, and the careful distance across the table began to feel less like protection and more like a choice they were both honoring.
“Was everything quiet?” she asked.
He reached for his water, then stopped. “Not exactly.”
Nicole waited.
“There was an emergency at the studio,” he said.
Her humor vanished. “When?”
“While the girls were watching cartoons.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“You had enough going on with the deliveries. And it was handled.”
“You left them with Maya?”
“No.” The answer came without pride. Just fact.
Nicole studied him. “What did you do?”
“I called the executive in charge. He needed one answer and confirmation that he had authority to act. I gave him both.”
“And then?”
“I put my phone facedown and watched cartoons with our daughters.”
Something deep inside Nicole shifted. She hadn’t arranged that test. She hadn’t known about it, hadn’t been there to watch, and hadn’t offered a reward if he passed. The studio had used the word that once ended every promise Alexander made to his family – emergency. He’d stayed.
“Did you want to go?” she asked.
“My first thought was that I had to.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because someone capable already had the problem. The girls had me. I finally understood those aren’t equal claims.” He met her eyes again. “And if the decision had cost the studio money, I still would’ve stayed.”
Nicole’s throat tightened. “They never knew you almost left.”
“They didn’t have to.”
That mattered most. Prim and Rose hadn’t needed to cry, bargain, or prove that their need was large enough. Alexander had protected their time before they knew it was in danger.