Chapter 16
Whispering Walls
Hildy
No fever. I take that as a win.
I cannot remember the last time I was sick.
Truly sick. Not tired, not run-down, not functioning on caffeine, sticky notes and my planner, but sick enough that my body simply opted out.
That does not surprise me now, not after hearing everything I apparently missed over the last couple days.
Time simply, but some things cannot be erased. The people who stepped in.
Lucy is still asleep. I checked twice. Her breathing is steadier now, deeper, the little hitch in her chest gone. She has kicked one sock off again. I did not fix it this time. I am learning, slowly, that not everything requires immediate attention.
Anneliese did. That realization still feels surreal.
Anneliese, the woman Lucy announced in a fever-soft voice looked like a queen, the woman who exists in my mind as someone Lenzin Faulker promised to marry.
A woman of elegance, distance, and inevitability.
A woman who regardless of the problem I am to that plan became a caretaker without hesitation.
She moved through the house with quiet authority, like she had always belonged there, like this was not strange or inconvenient or wildly out of character.
Like caregiving was simply another role she could assume when required.
She made soup. Real soup. She handled the monitor, the humidifier, the medication schedule.
She answered Lucy’s questions without condescension and mine without pity.
At some point, she tucked a blanket around my shoulders and told me to, ‘lie back down and do not move’ in a tone that did not invite argument.
I obeyed, which might be the most unsettling part.
I push off the wall carefully and take a few steps toward the kitchen, to feed the little one who is growing inside of me.
My body protests, but not the way it had been up until I got sick.
More like a warning than a refusal. I pause anyway, hand braced on the counter and breathe until the room steadies.
The house feels different now. Not calmer, exactly, but… held. Like invisible hands are keeping everything from tipping too far in any direction.
Lenzin is at the island, back to me, shoulders squared but tense. He has not noticed me yet. Or he has and is pretending not to. I am not sure which.
He has dealt with a lot that he didn’t ask for without hesitation. From day one he stepped up helping Lucy when she was trying to change her own bedding, to fevers, and child protective services.
I heard fragments through the fog of sleep. Voices lowering. Shoes moving down the hall. Lucy stirring and settling again when Lenzin adjusted the blanket with a care that made my chest ache even then.
I remember wanting to get up. Wanting to explain. Wanting to apologize for being sick, as if illness were a failure.
“You should still be sitting,” Annalies says from behind me, not unkindly.
“I am,” I reply. “Just… vertically.”
She considers this, then nods. “Acceptable compromise, I suppose.”
Lenzin turns then, and whatever he sees on my face makes something in him loosen.
“You’re up,” he says.
“No fever,” I answer.
He nods once. “Good.”
The word carries more weight than it should.
Annaleise sets a cup of tea in front of me. I wrap both hands around the mug, absorbing the warmth. “Thank you.”
“Alright, I am heading to bed.” She yawns. “Buzz if you need me.”
She heads toward the stairs, and I tell her again, “Thank you for everything.”
“I’ve done my good deed for the year, and it’s not February yet.” She states.
Lenzin chuckles as he rounds the island, walks up, and holds the back of his hand to my forehead.
“Confirmed,” he smiles. “You are on the mend. Now we can reschedule our meeting. What day works for—”
“It’s Wednesday,” I nod to the clock. “For another thirty minutes anyway. Unless you need to—”
“No, Wednesday works.” He takes my cup and motions to the couch.
I sit down at one end, and he immediately covers me with a blanket that smells freshly laundered, grabs the remote, presses a button, and the gas fireplace comes alive. I can’t help but quietly laugh.
“What?” he asks, settling at the other end.
“I thought that was ornamental.”
“It has been for some time.” He states. “Annaliese suggested I have it inspected, cleaned, and ready for when the papers are signed.”
“The papers?” I ask.
“The deed to the house.”
“You’re buying —”
“Money has been exchanged, yes.”
“But—”
“During Miss Reyes’ visit,” he continues calmly, like we are discussing grocery lists and not the architecture of my entire life, “she mentioned that Lucy had found a beautiful home and family here. She said she would need to see the apartment if anything formal changes.”
My stomach tightens, instinctive and immediate.
“I don’t want her to have to move,” he says simply. “You and Lucy should be here. Even if you’d rather I leave.”
The room goes to that quiet space that presses on your ribs because you want to respond, but it’s too much, you could be… too much.
I press past it. “I don’t want you to leave.”
He studies my face and finally says. “Good.”
He reaches for my hand, warm and steady, grounding me in a way that still surprises me. His thumb traces a slow, absent-minded line over my knuckles and back again.
“You look like you’re bracing for something,” he says gently.
“I am,” I admit. “I don’t know what this looks like yet. And I—” I swallow and look away. “I can’t bear the thought of—"
His hand stills. “Look at me.” I do. “Our situation is not the same as the one you’ve found yourself working to protect a child from a so-called man who wants public approval.
You do not know me well enough yet, but one day you will see that public perception holds zero weight with me.
People who know me, the person, not the heir to land, or the pro hockey player,” he holds his hand to his chest. “Me. I may be an ass, but I will not take children away from a woman who loves them. Especially not women who love like you do.”
My breath stutters despite my best efforts.
“That fear,” he continues, voice low and precise, “does not belong here. Not with me. Not in this house.”
I open my mouth, then close it again. Words feel inadequate. My body, traitorous as ever, supplies emotion instead. Tears sting, uninvited. He notices immediately.
“Oh,” he murmurs, shifting closer. “No. That was not meant to hurt.”
“It didn’t,” I say quickly. “It’s just… I didn’t know how badly I needed to hear that.”
His other hand comes up, resting over my stomach without ceremony or seeking permission. It’s protective in a way that doesn’t cage, that doesn’t claim, just acknowledges.
“And this one,” he adds softly, almost to himself. “This child will grow up knowing stability. Knowing they are wanted. Not tolerated. Not bargained over.”
I let my hand cover his. “You’re very confident for someone who hasn’t even had that conversation yet.”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “That conversation is about logistics. This is not.”
I lean back into the couch cushions, suddenly aware of how tired I still am, how much my body has been through. He adjusts immediately, pulling the blanket higher around my shoulders.
“Schatz,” he says without thinking, the word slipping out like it’s always been there.
I freeze. He freezes, too. We stare at each other for a beat, then another.
“Well,” he clears his throat. “That was… presumptuous.”
“I didn’t hate it,” I whisper softly.
The corner of his mouth lifts. “Good.”
His hand returns to my stomach, gentler now. “You’re doing a good job,” he says, and I know he doesn’t just mean being sick and still standing. He means everything.
Lucy stirs down the hall, a small sound, half dream, half complaint.
He looks toward the hallway instinctively, already halfway to getting up.
“She’s fine,” I say. “Just dreaming.”
He sits back, but his attention doesn’t fully leave the door.
“You know,” he says after a moment, “I used to think love was a burden, another responsibility that would mangle your dreams.”
“And now?”
“And now,” he says, glancing back at me, “I know it’s something you build and care for, on purpose or something completely unexpected in the best possible way.”
“Like Lucy.” I swallow hard.
His smile broadens. “I know this is early days, and although you know how un-fucking-believable I am in bed.”
“You are so full of your—”
“Oh no, you don’t.” He laughs fully, and God, I already love that sound. “I have recently been knocked down a notch or twenty.”
“Is that so?” I roll my eyes.
“Until recently, I would have said unforgettable, but clearly that is not the case.”
I sigh, “So were doing this already.”
“This?”
“This conversation about gaslighting and—”
“I did not gaslight you,” he defends, fully amused. I reach over and tug on his now bearded face. “Ouch.”
“Don’t be a baby, I was just checking to see if it was real or part of that disguise I now know you were donning.”
“Two things can be true at once,” he states.
I make a face. “Oh God, you’re one of those?”
“One of those?” he asks.
“Who uses that line instead of an actual argument with facts and—”
“Oh, God,” he mocks. “You’re one of those”
“One of those?” I mock back.
“Who doesn’t believe it unless she sees it.
” His smile softens. “I’m ready for it, Hildy.
I’m ready to prove why I am the one man on this planet who will care for your heart and our children’s in such a way that causes you to fall so deeply in love with me that it doesn’t matter that you can’t see it in a book, or hanging in a museum, you’ll simply know.
” He smiles smugly now. “And any other fool who thinks they can change that will be in for the fight of their life.”
“I have an appointment at four on Friday afternoon. I think you should rein it in until we know that everything is okay with the baby.”
He leans forward and shakes his head, “You’ve nothing to worry about. The baby is fine.”
“But if it’s not, then all of the things you just said, they mean—”
“The minute you walked in here, with Lucy, before I even knew you were carrying a child, before I knew it was mine, all of those things I said were inevitable. You’re going to adopt her, yes?”
“Of course I am,” I state firmly.
“Then I will be as well,” I swear my heart stops, the world stops. “She will be our first child.”
Tears come by the dozens, because the little girl in me always wanted a father and it hurt me that one day, she’d feel the exact same way and that was nothing I could promise or give to her alone.
He pulls me into a hug, “Now I’m asking you to consider what all of that means.
My life here will one day look different.
I hope it’s more than a decade from now, but Lucy and our other children may not want to cross the Atlantic, and trust me when I say, I will not force them to be held to what I am. ”
I lean back and wipe my eyes, “My career is going to be important to me.”
“And I will be your biggest supporter.”
“And your family, how will they feel about you having children before marriage, and to someone they didn’t choose?”
He chuckles, eyes smiling, “Who knows? Who cares?”
“They may, and what if they disown you? Strip the—”
“I would not shed one tear.”
“How can you say that?” I ask, shaking my head.
He doesn’t say anything for a few moments, breaks eye contact with me, and his own narrow. “Our children will be allowed to follow their dreams and not be concerned with upholding a history that is stained.”
“Stained by?” I ask.
“There are times when people forget that the war ended in 1945. My parents weren’t even born yet, for fucks sake, yet still.”
I more gently take his chin hair and turn him to face me, “Not your cross to carry.”
“Yet, I’ve had to defend myself more than once.” He forces a laugh. “Never until I lived in the States.”
“That’s because people are dicks.”
“Aw, see, now you’ve brought upon a smile, we’re now in my wheelhouse.” I roll my eyes. “Fine, pretend you didn’t relive that moment over and over again in your mind. I, however, will not pretend. Although…” He chuckles silently as he looks me over.
“Spill it.”
“Thanksgiving, I knew it was you, but when you didn’t even flinch, I wondered if I was wrong.”
“In an attempt to soothe the bruised ego, I will admit that unless it’s scheduled, I don’t have the energy or time to ogle men.”
“Perfect,” he leans in. “Then we’ll schedule meetings and see what we can do about clearing some of your schedule, to make time for these meetings.”
I lean back, “I’m a disaster.”
“You’re incredible.”
I don’t argue. I don’t have the energy to.
I’m grateful that I have just showered and brushed my teeth repeatedly, when he leans in slowly, like he’s giving me every possible chance to pull away, and when I don’t, his mouth finds mine.
The kiss is soft at first, careful, like he’s checking in with my body before anything else.
My shoulders loosen. My hands, usually so precise and careful, curl into his shirt instead.
Something inside me gives.
Not in a dramatic way. Not all at once. Just enough that I feel lighter than I have in days. No months since the last time we were like this. His taste is immediately recognized, and makes me even hungrier for this.
When he lifts me, it’s instinctive and gentle, the kiss never breaking as I wrap my legs around him out of reflex. We move down the hall slowly, deliberately, like we both know exactly where this ends.
And then reality nudges back in.
I pull away just enough to rest my forehead against his. “I should warn you,” I whisper, trying for humor and landing somewhere near honesty. “I’m typically a three-date girl.”
His breath hitches with laughter. “Is this a date?”
“I think so,” I say. “We had tea. And feelings.”
His lips twitch into a quick smile. “Dangerous combination.”
He carries me into the bedroom anyway, setting me down carefully beside Lucy, whose small body is sprawled across the pillows like she owns the space, like she owns my heart. He tucks the blankets around both of us with reverence. Before he turns off the light, brushes a kiss to my hair.
“Rest,” he murmurs.
I watch him step back, visibly collecting himself —and yes, I remember that part of him too— the line of his jaw tight with restraint rather than frustration. He gives Lucy one last glance, then me.
Nothing changes in his expression.
Nothing disappears.
When he leaves the room, the door clicks softly shut behind him, and I close my eyes and smile.