Chapter 14 The Other Man #2
“I spent six months designing a house with Audrey. She can make silence argumentative. I recognize the effect.”
“When?”
“Four years ago.”
The answer arrived before I decided whether I had a right to ask.
Ravi watched me understand my own mistake.
“You can ask me whether we slept together,” he said.
“I can.”
“You are not going to?”
“No.”
He leaned against the table.
“Why?”
“Because the answer belongs to Audrey.”
Approval entered his expression, which irritated me more than challenge would have.
“You have changed,” he said.
“You do not know me.”
“I remember the version who acquired an entire warehouse because the owner refused to extend a survey period.”
“The survey revealed an oil tank.”
“You bought the property next door too.”
“It blocked remediation access.”
“Of course it did.”
He capped his pen.
“For the record, I asked Audrey out twice.”
My body became very quiet.
Ravi continued before I spoke.
“She said no twice. We became friends. She refers clients. I bring her coffee when I need her to reject a drawing before a committee does.”
“You are telling me this for what reason?”
“Because she invited you here. Because your daughter is building her block out of cardboard. Because I have watched men decide Audrey’s answer was temporary when it inconvenienced them.”
“I am not asking you to protect her from me.”
“No. I am asking you not to make her spend energy proving a no you did not receive.”
The sentence was accurate enough to survive my dislike.
“I will ask her,” I said.
Ravi smiled. “That is going to make you miserable.”
“It already has.”
Audrey returned carrying a shallow tray of stone samples. Maeve carried three cork tiles and a brass mesh square.
“We selected a courtyard,” Maeve announced.
Ravi leaned toward the model. “Excellent. I was just telling your father that emotional regulation is a structural requirement.”
“I do not believe those were your words,” I said.
“They are now.”
Maeve placed the cork inside the model.
Audrey glanced between us.
“What happened?”
“Men spoke without supervision,” Ravi said.
“That is why cities require permits.”
He gathered his drawings.
“I will send the revised section Monday. Audrey, dinner next week? Purely professional unless you suddenly develop poor judgment.”
The invitation was light.
The possibility beneath it was not.
Audrey smiled. “Send me dates.”
Ravi kissed Lila’s absent coffee cup in farewell, nodded to Maeve, and looked at me.
“Do not buy my firm.”
“I had not considered it.”
“Your face considered three methods.”
He left.
The door closed.
Maeve looked at me. “Did you ask?”
“Not yet.”
“Audrey is here.”
Audrey set the stone tray down.
“Ask what?”
I could have delayed.
I could have waited until Maeve was occupied or gone home, then turned jealousy into a private confrontation with the lighting, timing, and certainty I preferred.
Maeve’s presence made performance impossible.
That was one of the gifts children provided without intending kindness.
I faced Audrey.
“Are you seeing Ravi?”
Her brows rose.
“No.”
Relief moved through me too quickly to hide.
Audrey noticed.
“Was that difficult?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Because you thought I might be?”
“Because I wanted to remove his hand at the elbow.”
Maeve looked at Audrey’s elbow.
Audrey folded her arms.
“You saw that.”
“Yes.”
“And instead of behaving like a person raised by wolves with a real-estate portfolio, you asked me a question.”
“I was not raised by wolves.”
“That was the part you objected to?”
“My childhood had staffing.”
A laugh escaped her.
I wanted to keep the sound by any method available.
I kept the distance between us.
“Are you going to dinner with him?” I asked.
“Professionally.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
“No.”
Maeve returned to attaching the courtyard. “Dad uses small answers when he is trying not to make a bad decision.”
Audrey sat on the edge of the worktable.
“What bad decision?” she asked me.
“Several acquisitions. One hostile email. A discussion of where architects should place their hands.”
“Where should they?”
“On drawings.”
Her eyes warmed with amusement and something sharper.
“Possessive is not automatically romantic, Gideon.”
“No.”
“You do not get credit for wanting to interfere and then performing the minimum behavior expected of an adult.”
“I am not asking for credit.”
“But you can tell me you are jealous.”
“I am jealous.”
The admission removed strategy from the room.
Audrey’s expression changed.
“Why?”
“Because he has years of you I do not know. Because you laugh with him without remembering a closing binder. Because he touches you as if the possibility of being welcome has never cost him sleep.”
Maeve’s hands stopped over the model.
I adjusted the answer.
“That was more information than this room required.”
“No,” Audrey said. “It was the answer I asked for.”
She looked toward Maeve.
“Would you like to take your model upstairs and show Mrs. Hadley the apartment?”
Maeve considered us with suspicion.
“Are you going to have an adult conversation?”
“Yes,” Audrey said.
“Does that mean kissing?”
“No,” I said.
Audrey said, “Not necessarily.”
Maeve looked between us.
“Your answers are inconsistent.”
“Take the model upstairs,” I told her.
“Ask first.”
I closed my eyes briefly.
“Would you like to show Mrs. Hadley?”
“Yes.”
Audrey called upstairs. Mrs. Hadley approved the visit and promised to return Maeve in fifteen minutes with no additional sugar beyond one shortbread.
Maeve left carrying the model.
The salon became quieter.
Audrey remained on the table.
“Were you seeing him?” I asked.
“You already asked.”
“I asked whether you are.”
“No. Ravi and I never dated.”
“Did you want to?”
“Once.”
The answer struck exactly where honesty was supposed to.
I held still.
“He was easy,” she continued. “Kind. Available. Interested without trying to rearrange my life. I thought easy might be what I needed.”
“Why was it not?”
“I did not love him.”
Relief came again.
She saw that too.
“You do not get to be pleased that I failed to love someone else.”
“I am pleased.”
“At least you are honest.”
“Did he kiss you?”
“That answer does not belong to you.”
The refusal burned.
I let it.
“You are right.”
Audrey watched my face as if waiting for the second part of the sentence.
There was none.
“Are you seeing anyone?” she asked.
“No.”
“In ten years?”
“I have had relationships.”
“That was not my question.”
“No one now.”
“Why not?”
I could have said work. Maeve. Timing. Privacy.
All true.
None complete.
“Because comparison became cruel,” I said. “Not to you. To them.”
Audrey’s fingers tightened against the table edge.
“That is a dangerous answer.”
“It is not a request.”
“I heard the distinction.”
The distinction remained between us.
She stood.
“Come here.”
I crossed the room.
Audrey placed one hand on my chest and looked up at me.
“I am not yours.”
“No.”
“Ravi is allowed to ask me to dinner.”
“Yes.”
“I am allowed to say yes.”
“Yes.”
“You are allowed to hate it.”
“Yes.”
Her thumb moved once over the fabric above my heart.
“What are you not allowed to do?”
“Punish you. Interfere with him. Convert jealousy into evidence that your choice is unsafe.”
“Good.”
“May I tell you what I want?”
“Yes.”
“I want every dinner that is not professional. Every laugh he did not earn by being easy. Every place at the table you have not offered me yet.”
Desire entered her eyes.
I continued before it could be mistaken for a claim.
“Wanting does not allocate anything.”
“No,” she said. “But asking can.”
Her fingers caught my lapel.
This time, she pulled.
I kissed her.
Fifteen minutes was insufficient for every thought I had imagined when Ravi touched her elbow. It was long enough for Audrey to open her mouth beneath mine and for my hands to find her waist with a restraint that made both of us impatient.
She pressed closer.
I tasted coffee and the last of the cold from outside.
My hand moved up her back.
She made a quiet sound against my mouth.
The sound altered my breathing.
“Still yes?” I asked.
“Yes.”
Her fingers entered my hair.
I kissed her again, harder.
A knock sounded above us through the old pipe chase.
Mrs. Hadley’s voice came from the stairwell.
“Your fifteen minutes have developed poor boundaries.”
Audrey laughed against my mouth.
I rested my forehead against hers.
“Architects,” I said.
“That was not Ravi.”
“He caused the conditions.”
Maeve entered carrying an empty shortbread tin.
She saw our position and nodded once.
“Inconsistent answers resolved.”
Audrey stepped away, still smiling.
A gust pressed snow against the salon windows.
The radiator clicked twice and went silent.
I looked toward it.
Lane House had never been quiet in that particular way.
Maeve placed her hand against the iron.
“It is cold.”
Audrey crossed the room and touched the pipe.
The temperature had begun dropping outside faster than forecast.
Somewhere above us, old metal contracted inside an old wall.
The sound was small.
A single hard knock.
Then nothing.