Chapter 24
I n Dexter’s mind, he wasn’t ignoring Lainey. When he had important decisions to make, he liked to have space and time to think clearly. Lainey, in turn, left supper for him each night on his doorstep, seemingly affirming his choice to give her some space. He assumed he was providing her the same consideration he would want, never guessing that each night he remained home felt like another rejection. If he had realized he was hurting her, he would have been appalled. As it was, he congratulated himself on exercising the discipline it took to give her what he assumed was much-needed mental clarity.
For the first time in a long time, he felt lonely and…sad? Was it sadness if you felt like your heart was somewhere outside your body? For instance, on the other side of a shared wall. He could hear Lainey moving around on her side. Occasionally he paused, coming to a complete halt as he placed his palm on the wall with what could only be called longing. He missed her. Kind of a lot. Kind of desperately. But she needed to decide what she wanted and, in Dexter’s mind, the only way to do that was to have time and clearance to think.
After the party we’ll talk, he told himself, which was an okay thing to tell himself because the party was coming quickly, too fast, really. The speed of its approach brought an unyielding sort of panic because what if…
But, no. If it came to that, he would figure something out. He would fix it because that was what he always did. He took care of things. He was that guy. He took care of Lainey, and he would take care of any misgivings she might have. Surely this time apart was giving her the mental clarity she needed. He simply had to hold out a while longer.
The space wasn’t working well for him, though. In addition to missing her, he’d started not sleeping well, for the first time in his life. He got it now, why insomnia was such a bear. He started off fine, fading into a heavy sleep like someone who was mentally and emotionally exhausted, which he was, and then he would wake with a start, consumed by thoughts that wouldn’t stop, overwhelmed by all the what-ifs currently lingering over him like a guillotine. And then, try as he might, he couldn’t get back to sleep. The closer it got to the party, the worse his insomnia became. And when he woke, the only reasonable solution seemed to go to Lainey and hash everything out right then, but he wouldn’t let himself. She needs space to think; I can give her that much. I can give her anything.
So instead he would try to read or watch television, but it never worked to distract him completely, and certainly not enough to get back to sleep.
When he woke with a gasp the night before the party, his heart sank. Not tonight, not when I need sleep so badly to be my best. But as he reached for the remote, he saw someone standing silently beside his bed and yelped.
“Bah! Lainey, what are you doing here?” he asked, his tone an odd combination of terror and desperation.
“I had a bad dream,” she said.
His heart thumped out of control. Not from fright, he realized, but from the sight of her. He had missed her and his heart apparently hadn’t been beating enough with the lack of her. Now that it had her back again, it was making up for lost time.
“What was the dream?” he asked, voice scratchy with longing. He gripped the sheet to stop his hand from reaching for her.
“I dreamed my husband was ignoring me,” she said, voice breaking pathetically on the last word as she dashed at her eyes.
He sat up, perplexed. “I wasn’t ignoring you. I was giving you space. I thought that was what you wanted, why you were leaving me food.”
She dropped her hands to her sides and blinked at him. “I didn’t want space; I hate space. I was leaving you food as a gesture, so you’d understand I wanted you to come back.”
They stared at each other, each realizing they had been allowing the other what they both wanted instead of what the other needed or wanted in return. “What did you want?” he whispered.
“You,” she wobbled, falling into him when he reached for her and pulled her into bed beside him in one swift motion.
“You’re an actual acrobat,” she whispered, hands smoothing his temples.
“I’m only getting started,” he said. It would have been the perfect moment for a kiss, but he needed a minute to look at her, to study the changes that had taken place the last few days, to smell her Lainey smell, and just be . He adored her, his little neighbor/wife, and he had no idea how to tell her, how to keep her after their deal was over. The weight of that threatened to pull him under; he pushed it away.
“I missed you so much,” she said, tears leaking out her eyes and rolling down her cheeks.
“I missed you more,” he said, using his thumbs to wipe them away.
“You look different. So many cells died and I didn’t get to say goodbye,” she said, fingertips smoothing over his cheeks.
“You’re insane,” he said, but he couldn’t stop smiling.
“More so now,” she agreed.
“How was your visit with Murphy?” he asked. Did you talk about Ian? Did you talk about me? Apparently he was that guy now, the one who wanted to know if a girl was gossiping over him. That was what Lainey did to him; she made him that guy in every iteration he never thought he’d become.
“Good. We hashed some things out. Turns out he and I are different, dramatic gasp, and we’re going to be okay with that.”
“Relieved sigh,” Dexter said, smiling impossibly harder when she giggled. He’d missed the giggle; he’d missed the insanity; he’d missed everything.
“How are The Russians?” Lainey asked.
“Still certifiable, but in an indiscernible language,” he said.
“And Sonya?” she said. Was it his hopeful imagination that her tone sharpened on Sonya’s name? Not that he wanted her to be jealous of…oh, who was he kidding? Of course he did.
“Is still Sonya,” he said, thumb skimming along her jaw.
“Hmm.”
There was a part of him, a big part, that wanted to ask about Ian, that wanted to dwell on his rival and Lainey’s affection for him. Did she still love the man? For that matter, did she love him? He thought she did, but she was also one of those warm loving people who was warm and loving to everyone, not merely the people who were special to her. Not like Dexter, who would never cuddle with anyone else or let down his guard this way with anyone else.
“Are you ready for the party tomorrow?” he said in lieu of anything worse.
She shook her head.
“No?” he said.
“No, I mean yes, but it’s after midnight. The party is today. Are you ready?”
“Yes,” he said, but it came out like a question. This would be the public viewing of a marriage that had heretofore been private. Previously it had only been for pretend. Now that it was about to go public, was it real or only in his head?
“You look very serious all of a sudden,” Lainey noted.
“I guess I’m a little nervous about the party,” he admitted. And everything that comes after.
“Afraid The Russians won’t behave?” she said.
“No, okay yes. I’ve threatened them within an inch of their lives to be on their best behavior, tried hard to impress upon them how many of our bigwig clients will be in attendance. But you never know with them. And, I have to say, The Hungarians have been hitting them hard and heavy lately.”
“I saw the billboard,” Lainey said. “It was kind of funny, my loyalty to The Russians notwithstanding.”
“It was,” Dexter agreed. He rested his head on his arm, hand still cupping her face. Lainey clutched his shirt in both her fists, snuggling closer.
“I took the job,” she whispered.
“How do you feel about that?” he asked.
“Disappointed and responsible, so like a real grownup, I suppose.”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Not your fault. In fact it was only because of you I delayed the inevitable and got to live the dream a while longer. So thank you.”
His face morphed into a frown. It felt wrong for her to thank him. “I should have done more.”
“You did all you could. A contractual husband can only do so much.”
There. She broached the subject both of them had been trying so hard to avoid. “Maybe for a little while we could forget the contractual part,” he suggested, unable to believe he’d had the nerve.
Lainey smiled. “Are you propositioning me?”
He wasn’t, not at all. He hadn’t been referring to the current moment, but instead their entire future. But now that she took it that way, he didn’t know how to undo it. And, if he were honest, that was what he wanted, not one night but all the nights. The words wouldn’t form, though. How did a man ask a woman who was already his wife to remain his wife for the long haul? You need grand gesture. He could almost hear The Russians saying it.
“Yes,” he said and kissed her because what could be grander than that?
A lot of things, as it turned out.