16. Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Sixteen
Ophelia
Ophelia opened Juliet’s front door and stared at her husband.
Gideon looked down at himself. “Is there a problem?”
“You own jeans.”
“I own several pairs.”
“No. I’ve seen several pairs hanging in your closet. I assumed they were decorative.”
His mouth shifted at one corner. The dark jeans fit him too well to be fair, and the gray sweater made him look broader and less guarded than any suit did.
His black coat was simple. No tie, no polished armor.
Even his hair looked as if he’d pushed a hand through it instead of letting someone make him ready for a photograph.
For one painful second, he looked like the man who’d taken her skating before Hale Global took every hour he owned.
“They have a practical use,” he said. “I was told this date required clothing I could fall in.”
“Wise. Did your risk team prepare a report?”
“Twenty-seven pages. I rejected it on the grounds that you said no upgrades.”
She stepped outside and pulled the door closed behind her. “I’m proud of you.”
“That sounded cruel.”
“It was affectionate.”
His gaze warmed. “I remember the difference.”
The words landed too softly. Ophelia looked away before he could see how much they affected her.
At the rink, they stood in line behind a family with three loud children and a group of teenagers taking pictures of one another.
No employee appeared to lead them through a side entrance, and no manager greeted Gideon by name.
He handed over two ordinary tickets, and a bored young man stamped the backs of their hands.
Ophelia inspected the purple mark on Gideon’s skin. “You didn’t buy the building.”
“I considered it.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“I didn’t consider it for long,” he defended.
“How long?” she asked.
It wasn’t even a joke, really. Gideon Hale could buy anything if he wanted to. The reason why she kept rubbing it in his face was because it was true.
“Long enough to recognize the thought as a problem,” he said.
“Progress.”
“Again, that sounded cruel.”
“Still affectionate.”
Colored light slid across the wooden floor.
A mirrored ball turned above the skaters, throwing small white spots over the walls and faces.
Music played over the rumble of wheels and the sharp cries of people who had lost control.
The rental counter gave Ophelia a pair of worn tan skates and Gideon a battered blue pair with a dark scrape across one toe.
He held one up. “Do these come with a medical waiver?”
“You’re afraid of a shoe?” She laughed.
“I’m suspicious of anything with this much history.”
“That shoe has survived more falls than you’re about to.”
“That sounds like a threat.”
“It’s a promise.”
They sat on a hard bench to change. Gideon worked the laces with the same fierce focus he gave contract terms. Ophelia finished first and watched him pull one knot tight, test it, and retie it.
“You know,” she said, “most people don’t negotiate with their skates.”
“Most people accept weak terms and regret them later.”
“They’re laces.”
“That’s how they get you.”
She laughed before she could stop herself. Gideon went still. He didn’t make the moment heavier by telling her he’d missed the sound of her laughter. He only looked at her, his dark eyes open and pleased.
“Come on,” she said, standing. “Let’s see whether all those careful knots help.”
They did not. The instant Gideon rolled onto the floor, his body locked from shoulders to knees. He caught the rail with both hands and stared at the moving crowd as if it had formed with the sole purpose of taking him down.
Ophelia skated backward in front of him. “Bend your knees.”
“They’re bent.”
“Not in any way visible to the human eye.”
“I’m preserving structural control.”
“You look like a frightened wardrobe.”
“An elegant wardrobe?”
“No.”
He gave her a flat look. “Marriage has made you vicious.”
“Neglect made me honest.”
The answer slipped out with a sharper edge than the moment needed. Gideon’s humor faded, but he didn’t flinch away from it.
“Then honest is better,” he murmured.
Ophelia studied him. Before she left, he would have defended himself or told her not to spoil the evening. Now he waited, one hand on the rail, and let her decide whether the hurt needed more room. It didn’t. Not then.
She held out her hand. “Let go.”
His eyebrows rose. “Of the only stable object in this building?”
“Of the rail, Gideon.”
“I understood the demand. I question your judgment.”
“Trust me.”
The joke disappeared. His gaze dropped to her hand, then returned to her face.
“I do,” he said.
Her chest tightened. “This is skating. Don’t make it a speech.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
He put his hand in hers. Ophelia pulled him away from the rail. His first step was too long. His second went sideways. He grabbed her other hand, and she rolled backward while he tried not to drag them both down.
“You said you remembered how to do this,” she said.
“I remembered being better than this.”
“You fell twice on our first date.”
“The floor was uneven.”
“You blamed the floor then too.”
“Consistency is a virtue.”
“Not always.”
His eyes met hers. “No. Not always.”
She pushed off before the truth could settle too deeply.
Gideon followed, badly. His arms kept lifting as if balance could be argued into place.
Ophelia laughed when he swore under his breath, laughed harder when he nearly collided with a painted snowman on the wall, and lost all mercy when he finally dropped onto one knee.
He looked up at her. “You seem happy.”
“I’m trying to be supportive.”
“You’re crying.”
She wiped under one eye. “With concern.”
“Of course.” He took her offered hand. “Your compassion has always set you apart.”
“Careful. I can leave you down there.”
“You could, but then you’d have to explain to the staff why a Hale became part of the floor.”
She pulled. He rose with more strength than help from her, ending close enough that his chest brushed hers. His hands settled at her waist for one warm second. The laughter caught in her throat.
Gideon released her first.
“Race you,” she said.
“That’s not a serious proposal.”
“Scared?”
“Realistic.”
“Last one around buys dinner.”
“I intended to buy dinner anyway,” he argued.
“Then you have nothing to lose.”
She launched herself into the moving crowd before he agreed. A second later, she heard him call her name.
Ophelia moved easily between slower skaters and glanced back. Gideon was coming after her with none of her grace and all of his stubbornness. He cut close to the inside rail, caught it, and used one hard pull to send himself forward.
“Cheater!” she yelled.
“Strategy,” he called back.
He passed her by half a body before losing control near the turn. Ophelia swept around him and reached their starting point first.
Gideon arrived a few seconds later, breathing hard and smiling without restraint.
“You obstructed me,” he said.
“I was ahead of you.”
“Exactly.”
“That isn’t what obstruction means.”
“It meant I couldn’t win.”
“That’s usually how losing works,” she said.
He laughed. Not the brief, careful sound he used at public dinners. This laugh broke free of him. His head tipped back, his scar caught a line of blue light, and for a moment he looked younger than thirty-eight.
Ophelia had missed this man so badly.
A slower song began. The teenagers groaned. Couples drew closer, and the rush around the floor softened.
Gideon looked at her. “May I?”
She knew what he meant. Her pulse changed anyway.
“Yes.”
He took one of her hands and placed the other at her waist. They moved slowly, his wheels unsteady beneath him. Ophelia rested her free hand on his shoulder. He smelled clean and familiar. The sweater under her palm was soft. His thumb shifted once against her side, then stilled.
On their first skating date, he’d held her exactly this way after his second fall.
He’d been embarrassed until she kissed the scar through his eyebrow and told him she liked finding one thing he couldn’t master in ten minutes.
He’d laughed, kissed her beside the rail, and spent the rest of the evening with no concern for who might see him fail.
The memory felt so close to the present that Ophelia could almost pretend the years between them hadn’t happened. Almost.
Gideon watched her face. “Where did you go?”
“Our first date here,” she said.
“I was magnificent.”
“You needed ice for your hip.”
“A minor cost of magnificence.”
“You were different.”
His smile faded. “I was.”
“I was too.”
“You laughed at me with less cruelty.”
“I barely knew you. I was being polite.”
His hand tightened a little at her waist. “I like you impolite.”
She looked at his mouth. “You say that now.”
“I should’ve said it every time you made yourself agreeable for me.”
The song and the people around them kept moving. Ophelia felt the familiar urge to ease the regret in his expression. She let the urge pass.
“Then keep liking it,” she said.
“I will.”
When the song ended, Gideon didn’t try to hold her longer. He lowered his hand and waited until she chose to lace their fingers together.
The photo booth stood near the exit, its red curtain faded from years of use. Ophelia pointed to it.
“No,” Gideon said.
“You haven’t heard my proposal.”
“I know your face.”
“Four pictures.”
“Evidence.”
“Of your magnificent skating?”
He sighed. “I walked into that.”
“You rolled into it. Badly.”
She pulled him inside. Their knees pressed together on the narrow bench. Gideon faced the camera with the grim expression he used in annual reports.
“Smile,” she ordered.
“I am.”
“That’s alarming.”
The first flash caught her pointing at his mouth.
Before the second, she pressed two fingers into his cheek and tried to force a smile.
He caught her wrist. The flash went off while she struggled not to laugh.
For the third, Gideon leaned over and kissed her temple.
Surprise softened her before the light burst.
“That was cheating too,” she said.
“Strategy.”
She turned to argue. His smug expression broke her. Ophelia laughed, he started laughing with her, and the last flash caught them leaning into each other like neither of them had ever learned how to pose.
Two matching strips slid from the machine. Gideon studied them, then handed one to her. He kept the other with his thumb over the last picture.
“You like that one?” she asked.
“That’s the one I want.”
He took out his wallet and tucked the strip inside.
***
The burger place nearby had bright lights, plastic booths, and fries that left salt on Ophelia’s fingers.
Gideon sat across from her with his coat beside him and his phone out of sight.
He listened while she argued that her clear victory meant he owed her dessert.
He claimed her early start had invalidated the race.
She stole three fries from his tray during his defense.
“Theft,” he said.
“Damages.”
“For what?”
“Emotional distress. I had to watch you skate.”
He pushed the rest of his fries toward her. “Settle out of court.”
“You’re learning.”
They ate. They teased each other about his fall, and the photo booth, and the purple stamps still marking their hands. Gideon didn’t check the door, the time, or a screen. His attention stayed with her even when she paused to find the right words.
That attention made her happy. It also scared her.
“What?” he asked.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You stopped stealing my fries.”
“A serious warning sign.”
“With you, yes.”
Ophelia rubbed salt between her fingers. “I had fun.”
“You sound worried about it.”
“I am.”
He waited.
She looked at him across the scratched plastic table. “You feel like the man I remember tonight.”
Gideon’s face stayed still, but something careful entered his eyes. “And you don’t know whether he’s real.”
“I know he was real. I don’t know whether he can last.”
“That’s fair.”
“Don’t agree just because it’s the correct answer.”
“I’m agreeing because one good night shouldn’t outweigh six bad years.”
The blunt truth hurt. “Tonight was easy,” she said. “We skated, we laughed, you gave me your full attention over burgers. What happens when none of it is easy?”
“You watch what I do.”
“That’s all?”
“I could make promises.” He held her gaze. “You have enough of those from me.”
Her throat tightened.
“I can’t prove permanence tonight,” he said. “I can only be here tonight and keep being there when you let me.”
“That was almost sensible,” she said.
“Therapy is damaging my reputation.”
She smiled. “Tragic.”
“I’ll recover.”
He didn’t ask whether she believed him. He didn’t ask what the evening had earned. They finished dinner while talking about nothing important, and that felt important in a way Ophelia wasn’t ready to name.
***
Later, at Juliet’s door, Gideon stood close enough that Ophelia could feel the heat of him through their coats.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Even though I won?” Ophelia asked.
“Your victory remains under formal protest.”
“Denied.”
“I expected corruption.”
She smiled, but neither of them moved. His eyes dropped to her mouth, then returned to hers.
He waited. Ophelia rose onto her toes and kissed him.
The first touch was warm and careful. Then Gideon made a rough sound low in his throat, and all her control went with it.
She gripped the front of his sweater and pulled him closer.
His hands closed around her waist. His mouth opened over hers, hungry but still waiting for every answer she gave him.
She gave him more. Weeks of wanting him rushed through her body.
She pressed against him, felt the hard line of him, and wanted the locked door behind her to disappear.
She wanted to pull him inside, take off that soft gray sweater, and stop thinking about whether desire was safe.
Her hand reached for the door. Fear hit before her fingers touched the handle.
“Stop,” she breathed.
Gideon released her at once. His hands fell away, and he stepped back, breathing hard. The sudden cold between them made her want to take the word back. She didn’t.
“I’m not ready,” she said.
“All right.”
“I wanted to ask you inside.”
His jaw tightened. “You don’t have to explain.”
“I want you.”
“I want you too.” His voice was rough, but he stayed where he was. “That doesn’t decide anything for you.”
She folded her arms, holding herself together. “You make restraint look very annoying.”
“It is extremely annoying.”
A laugh escaped her, shaky and small.
Gideon’s expression softened. “You decide when, Ophelia. Or if.”
The second part hurt him. She saw it. He gave it to her anyway.
“Thank you for tonight,” he said. “I had a wonderful time.”
He didn’t ask for another date. He didn’t ask what the kiss meant. He only waited until she opened the door, then gave her one last warm look before he left.
Inside, Ophelia touched her swollen mouth and felt joy, grief, and hunger at once. One wonderful date proved that the connection between them was still alive. It didn’t prove Gideon could stay present when being with her stopped being easy.