13. Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Thirteen
Ophelia
Gideon called when he said he would. The first time, Ophelia watched the clock on Juliet’s mantel and hated herself a little for it. Eight o’clock came. Her phone rang before the minute changed.
“You’re alarmingly exact,” she told him.
“I was afraid calling early would look eager.”
“You are eager.”
“Painfully. I was trying to keep some dignity.”
She smiled before she could stop herself. “How’s that going?”
“You answered the phone, so I’ve abandoned the effort.”
He asked about the meeting she’d mentioned the day before. Not Threshold in general, not whether everything was fine. The meeting with the contractor who kept trying to move the courtyard path because straight lines were cheaper.
“Did he listen?” Gideon asked.
“After I explained that people aren’t freight and don’t need the shortest route between two points.”
“I feel unfairly targeted by that statement,” he said.
“You should.”
He remembered that Juliet had a school event and asked whether it had gone well. When Ophelia said she needed to finish a grant letter, he didn’t stretch the conversation with one more question and then another.
“Go,” he said. “I’ll call tomorrow.”
“That’s it?”
There was a pause. “Did you want me to argue?”
She hadn’t. She’d only expected him to make leaving difficult now that he wanted every minute she offered.
“No,” she said. “Good night, Gideon.”
“Good night, Ophelia.”
Each call was small enough to dismiss. Together, they began to trouble her. Consistency was quiet. It didn’t arrive in a crystal bowl. It gave her nothing obvious to reject.
During another call, Gideon asked, “May I apologize to Juliet?”
Ophelia sat straighter in the deep chair by the bookcase. “For what?”
“I’d like to tell her that in person. If she’ll allow it.”
“Are you asking me to arrange it?”
“No. I’m asking whether you object to me contacting her. I won’t appear at her door, and I won’t ask her to speak to you for me.”
Ophelia studied the crowded shelves as if the answer might be tucked between two novels. Juliet had been angry on her behalf for years. She’d also carried Ophelia through the front door when the strength that got her there ran out.
“I’ll ask if she’s willing to hear you,” Ophelia said. “That’s all.”
“That’s more than I expected. Thank you.”
When she told Juliet, her sister agreed with the kind of smile that suggested she was looking forward to making a powerful man sweat.
***
Gideon arrived at the greystone with no flowers, no wine, and no polished package in his hands.
He stood just inside the warm living room while books leaned in uneven stacks around him and a bright quilt lay folded over the couch.
In his dark coat and perfect suit, he looked like someone had placed a piece of Hale Tower inside Juliet’s home by mistake.
Ophelia stayed. Gideon had asked for no privacy, and Juliet had refused it anyway.
“Sit down,” Juliet said.
Gideon sat.
“You look disappointed,” she added.
“I had prepared to be told to stand.”
“I considered it. Ophelia likes this rug.”
His mouth moved at one corner. “A reasonable concern.”
Ophelia pressed her lips together, but Juliet caught the almost-smile.
“Don’t encourage him,” Juliet said.
“I didn’t do anything,” Ophelia said.
“You married him. Your judgment has a record.”
Gideon’s brief humor disappeared. “It does. That’s part of why I’m here.”
Juliet folded her arms. “Then talk.”
He looked at Ophelia once. Not for rescue, just to make sure she was ready to hear him. When she gave a small nod, he faced Juliet.
“I neglected your sister,” he said. “I broke promises to her so often that she learned not to trust them. I treated her work as if it mattered less than mine, and I let her spend years wondering whether needing her husband made her unreasonable.”
Juliet’s expression stayed hard, but her arms loosened.
Gideon went on. “She became quieter because I made honesty costly. I accepted that quiet because it made my life easier. Then I mistook the damage I caused for contentment.”
Ophelia felt his words hit low in her chest. She’d expected an apology to Juliet. She hadn’t expected him to understand that part yet.
“You made her smaller,” Juliet said.
“Yes.”
“She came through that door believing she had somehow failed you.”
Gideon’s jaw tightened. “I know.”
“No. I don’t think you do.” Juliet leaned forward. “She could barely say she was lonely without explaining how busy you were. She thought leaving your house might be crueler than disappearing inside it. I had to help her rebuild the life you made smaller.”
Pain crossed his face. Ophelia knew every sign of it. The still shoulders, the careful breath, the dark gaze that fixed on one point as he fought to put feeling back under control. Her body prepared to help him before her mind caught up. She almost reached across the space between them.
Gideon spoke first. “I’m sorry I left you to do that. I’m sorry I hurt her badly enough that she needed rebuilding. And I’m sorry I taught both of you that loving me meant making excuses for me.”
He didn’t mention Hale Global. He didn’t mention Larry, Kyle, pressure, or the long list of people who expected him to solve their problems. He left himself nowhere to hide.
Juliet watched him for a long moment. “I’m not going to tell her you’ve suffered enough.”
“I won’t ask you to.”
“I’m not going to explain you to her.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“And I won’t help rush her home because you’re finally uncomfortable in it alone.”
“I understand.”
Juliet’s eyes narrowed. “That was suspiciously easy.”
“Would you like me to object so you can throw me out?”
“A little.”
“I’m trying not to make every interaction serve my preferences.”
“Inconvenient timing for me.”
Ophelia laughed. The sound escaped so suddenly that both of them looked at her. Gideon’s face softened, but he didn’t turn the moment into more than it was.
Juliet sighed. “Fine. You can stay for coffee. It isn’t forgiveness.”
“I assumed it was coffee.”
“Good answer.”
***
Several days later, Ophelia stood outside the Astor Street house with her hand on her car door and wondered why walking inside felt more intimate than placing her hand over Gideon’s had.
She needed more clothes, three planning books, and the heavy coat she’d left behind. Gideon had offered to be gone while she collected them. She’d heard the care in the offer and the hope he tried to hide when she asked him to stay.
Now he opened the front door before she reached it.
“You didn’t have to wait there,” she said.
“I wasn’t waiting at the door.”
“You opened it before I knocked.”
“I was waiting near the door.”
“With dignity?”
“No. We established that I gave it up.”
The house was as beautiful as it had always been. Clean lines, pale stone. Too much quiet. Yet Gideon stood in the middle of it with his tie gone and his sleeves rolled to his forearms, and the formal space seemed less certain of itself.
“I can stay out of your way,” he said. “Tell me what you want carried.”
“Have you eaten?” she asked.
He glanced toward the kitchen. “Not exactly.”
“That’s not a difficult question.”
“I had coffee.”
“Coffee isn’t food.”
“I’m aware of the argument.”
She should’ve gone upstairs. She should’ve gathered what she needed and returned to Juliet’s before the house could remind her of soft mornings, bare feet, and Gideon’s hand finding her waist in his sleep.
Instead, she walked toward the kitchen. “Do we have bread?”
“Probably.”
“Cheese?”
“That seems even more likely.”
“Your command of your own kitchen is inspiring.”
He followed her. “I had other strengths when you married me.”
“Name two.”
“I could make reservations and pay for them.”
“That’s one strength wearing two coats.”
They found bread, cheese, butter, and tomato soup. The simple meal had been theirs when they were dating, back when neither of them needed an occasion to sit together. Ophelia handed Gideon a knife and pointed at the bread.
“Butter it.”
“Which side?”
She stared at him. “The outside.”
“You say that as if bread has a clear public face.”
“Give me the knife.”
“No. I can learn.”
He used far too much butter, turned the heat too high, and pressed the sandwich down as if force might speed up breakfast. Smoke rose from the pan.
“Gideon,” Ophelia admonished.
“I see it.”
“Do you? Because you’re still pressing.”
“I’m committed now.”
“To burning it?”
“To finishing what I began.”
She laughed so hard she had to catch the edge of the counter.
Gideon looked at the blackened bread, then at her, and started laughing too.
It changed his whole face. For one dangerous second, he was the man who used to lean closer when she spoke because nothing else in the room interested him as much.
He dropped the ruined sandwich onto a plate. “We can call that one a warning.”
“To other sandwiches?”
“To me.”
The second attempt came out uneven but edible. Steam rose from the bowls of soup. They ate at the kitchen island instead of the long dining table. From Ophelia’s seat, she could see the open door of the home office. The screens inside were dark.
Gideon followed her gaze. “I haven’t worked in there at night since you left.”
Her pleasure disappeared as quickly as it had come. “You don’t have to turn the room into a punishment.”
“I haven’t. Work belongs at work unless there’s a real emergency. I should’ve understood that before.”
“Yes. You should have.”
“Yes.”
The easy answer irritated her. Not because it was wrong. Because it left nowhere for her anger to strike.
She put down her spoon. “Do you know why I stopped inviting you places?”
Gideon didn’t look away. “Because I kept saying no.”
“Not only that. Every ‘no’ taught me something. If I asked you to attend an event and you refused, I felt foolish for wanting you there. If you promised and canceled, I felt foolish for believing you. So I stopped giving you as many chances to make me feel foolish.”
His hand tightened around his spoon. “I noticed you stopped asking.”
“Did you wonder why?”
“No.” The answer came without protection. “I was relieved.”
It hurt even though she’d known. “Because I stopped being inconvenient,” she said.
“Yes.”
The kitchen seemed too still around them.
Ophelia made herself continue. “I stopped telling you about Threshold because you listened just long enough to offer money. I stopped telling you when I was angry because you treated emotion like bad evidence. I nearly stopped initiating sex because being refused and then watching you wake up for work made me feel ashamed of wanting my own husband. You promised me the next night, too. I don’t think you remembered saying it. ”
Gideon’s face went pale. He didn’t interrupt.
“I learned how to make every need smaller before I brought it to you,” she said. “Then I learned not to bring it at all.”
“And I called that peace.” His voice was rough. “Your silence made my life easier, so I accepted it as happiness.”
Ophelia’s throat burned.
“You made the house comfortable,” he continued.
“You remembered what my family needed. You stood beside me in public. You protected my reputation. You let me reach for you when I came to bed, even after I’d ignored you all day.
I depended on every privilege you gave me while telling myself you needed nothing from me. ”
The shame in his face pulled at old habits. She lifted her hand. “You were carrying so much, and I…” She stopped.
There it was. The soft explanation. The careful cover laid over his pain so neither of them had to look at it for too long.
Ophelia lowered her hand. “No. Why didn’t you ask if I was lonely?”
Gideon went very still.
“You knew I stopped asking,” she said. “Why didn’t you ask why?”
“Because I might’ve had to change.” He looked at the burned sandwich on the plate between them. “And because I believed you’d stay whether I changed or not.”
The truth hurt. It also felt clean. He hadn’t asked her to forgive the ugliest answer. He’d simply given it to her.
“I don’t want to keep making your feelings easier for you,” she said.
“I know.”
“Sometimes I’m going to sound angry.”
“You are angry.”
“Sometimes I’m going to be unfair.”
“Then I’ll tell you.”
Her brows rose. “Will you?”
“Carefully. From a safe distance.”
Her laugh was softer this time. “Coward.”
“Strategist.”
The smile stayed between them. So did the grief.
Upstairs, Gideon carried an empty box while Ophelia chose what to take. He followed her directions and didn’t question any item. In the planning studio, her rings still rested on the Canal Works proposal. The sight stopped her for half a breath.
Gideon stopped too, but he said nothing.
“The books on the lower shelf,” she said.
“All three?”
“Yes.”
He crouched to collect them. Ophelia watched the pull of his shirt across his shoulders, the familiar strength of his hands. Desire moved through her with enough force to make her step back.
He noticed. Of course he noticed.
At the front door, he set the last box in her arms, and their fingers touched. Neither of them moved for a second.
“You’re looking at me,” she said.
“Yes.”
His gaze dropped to her mouth, then returned to her eyes. He didn’t lean closer.
Ophelia wanted to kiss him. Wanting him had never been the difficult part.
“I’m not ready,” she said.
“All right.”
“I want to be.”
Hope flashed across his face, bright and painful. Still, he released the box first.
“Wanting doesn’t create a deadline,” he said.
She carried her belongings to the car. Gideon stayed in the doorway rather than following her down the walk. When she looked back, he lifted one hand. She did the same.
For a few imperfect hours, the mansion had felt more like a home than it had in years.