CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
ISABELLA
The next morning, I would quite like to die. Not literally; I merely want to disappear for seven hours, return after Alexander has left, and pretend I did not voluntarily climb two flights of stairs to get into his bed.
When I go downstairs, I find him making coffee. He is dressed, groomed, and behaving perfectly normally, which I regard as a personal provocation.
“Good morning,” he says.
“No.”
The beginning of a smile touches his mouth.
“Understood.”
Lily walks into the kitchen wearing her school uniform and carrying Oliver by one ear.
“Did Mum sleep in Dad’s room?”
I choke on air. Alexander drops the spoon into the sink.
“What?” I ask.
“I went to your room in the night because I had a dream, but you weren’t there. Then I went upstairs to Dad’s room, and the door was closed.”
My brain searches for a way to escape through my ear.
“I…”
Lily continues, apparently indifferent to the adults collapsing around her.
“Were you talking?”
“Adults sometimes talk late at night,” I say.
She frowns.
“Lying down?”
“Lily!”
My daughter starts laughing.
“I was only asking.”
Alexander turns his back and develops an exaggerated interest in the coffee machine. His shoulders move, and I realize he is hiding his laughter.
“Do not find this funny,” I warn him.
He turns around with his mouth forced into a serious line.
“I don’t.”
Liar.
Lily pours cereal into the yellow bowl.
“If you didn’t have a fight, you can sleep there.”
“Thank you for the permission.”
“You’re welcome.”
When she leaves to fetch her backpack, I point at Alexander.
“One word and you die.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything.”
“A smile counts too.”
He arranges his expression into something so neutral that he looks ready to present quarterly results.
“Perfect.”
“Very mature.”
“I’m trying to survive.”
The humor disappears after Lily leaves for school. Once we are alone, every detail of the previous night returns to the kitchen with us.
“We need to talk about last night,” I begin.
“You don’t need to justify yourself.”
My body stiffens.
“Of course we need to talk.”
“I only meant that you don’t have to explain why you came to my room or apologize for it.”
“I wasn’t apologizing.”
“All right.”
“Stop agreeing with everything.”
Alexander closes his mouth.
“What happened doesn’t change anything,” I say quickly because I need to hear the words aloud.
He takes only a moment before answering.
“I understand.”
“Alexander.”
“What would you like me to say?”
The question silences me.
“I don’t know.”
“If I say last night changed everything, I’m putting pressure on you. If I say it meant nothing, I’m lying.”
My chest tightens.
“So I’ll say only this: I heard what you told me before you kissed me and before you entered my room. I will not use sex as evidence of reconciliation or assume it will happen again.”
The word sex sounds clinical between us, which may be for the best.
“You want it to happen again.”
“Very much.”
The honesty lands harder than I expect.
“But wanting something does not turn desire into expectation,” he adds.
I look away.
“Good.”
“Isabella.”
“What?”
“Are you angry because I’m not making this difficult?”
“Perhaps.”
A faint smile appears.
“That’s new.”
“You making anything easier is new too.”
“Fair.”
I pick up my bag.
“I need to work.”
“Would you like me to—”
My look stops him.
“Listen,” he corrects.
“Exactly.”
“All right.”
He closes his eyes the moment he realizes what he has said.
“Damn.”
I laugh despite myself and leave before the moment of lightness convinces me any of this can be simple.
In the car, I think about the kiss, the bedroom, and the way Alexander stopped every movement the moment he sensed the slightest hesitation. I also think about how he let me leave without asking whether I still loved him.
The absence of pressure unsettles me more than any demand could have.
At the office, I attempt to focus on a presentation but read the same page four times. Helena notices.
“Did something happen?”
“No.”
“That ‘no’ sounds as though it has muscles and its own personal fortune.”
“Manage the diary.”
She smiles and leaves.
The day proceeds through meetings, phone calls, and a conversation with my lawyer about Lily’s trust. He has found no traps, although he recommends several technical amendments and confirms that Alexander has genuinely surrendered enough authority to surprise anyone familiar with his reputation.
“You don’t have to accept immediately,” he reminds me.
“I know.”
“You also don’t need to reject it merely because it was his idea.”
“That part is more difficult.”
“That is why you have independent counsel.”
Clara calls late in the afternoon. I make the mistake of telling her I kissed Alexander while omitting everything that followed.
“You only kissed him?” she asks.
“That is none of your business.”
“So no.”
“Clara.”
“Am I allowed to be happy for you?”
“No.”
“Concerned?”
“Also no.”
“Then what reaction has been authorized?”
“Silence.”
She manages it for two seconds.
“I don’t possess that skill.”
I hang up after making her promise not to appear at the house “by accident.”
When I get home, Alexander is in Lily’s room reading to her. I pass the open door and hear his voice.
“And then the Lee-oh-pleur-oh-don dived—”
“Dad!” Lily protests.
“What?”
“It’s Lie-oh-ploor-oh-don.”
“That collection of sounds continues to seem impossible.”
“Mum can say it.”
“Apparently, your mother can do everything.”
My heart contracts.
“Do you love Mum?” Lily asks.
I stop in the corridor.
I should continue walking, but I cannot.
There is a brief silence.
“Yes,” Alexander answers.
“Does she love you?”
My body goes still.
He waits before responding.
“That is something you need to ask her.”
“You don’t know?”
“There are things I don’t have the right to answer for another person.”
Lily considers this.
“But do you want her to love you?”
“I do.”
“A lot?”
His voice lowers.
“Very much.”
“Then tell her.”
“Your mum knows.”
“Why doesn’t that make you be together?”
Alexander takes several seconds before answering.
“Because loving someone doesn’t mean forcing that person to choose what I want. Your mum needs to be free to decide without having to take care of my feelings.”
The silence in the room stretches.
“Being an adult is very complicated,” Lily concludes.
“At last, we agree on something.”
I walk away before either of them discovers I was listening.
Inside my bedroom, I close the door and sit on the bed. Tears arrive with anger, although I do not know where to direct it.
The man I needed five years ago is learning how to exist now. He listens, asks, and offers the truth without trying to use it to trap me. I do not know whether that change is meant to serve our future or merely show me more clearly everything we could have had.
That evening, I avoid Alexander until Lily is asleep. Then I find him in the kitchen, almost exactly as I did the night before, although this time he is wearing a shirt.
“You don’t have to hide from me,” he says.
“I’m not hiding.”
“You’ve spent twenty minutes pretending to organize a drawer that was already organized.”
I look down at the perfectly aligned cutlery.
“Perhaps I’ve developed an interest in organization.”
“That would be a troubling influence.”
I close the drawer.
“I heard you talking to Lily.”
Alexander becomes tense.
“Which part?”
“The part about loving someone without forcing her to choose.”
“I didn’t intend for you to listen secretly.”
“I didn’t plan to.”
He waits without fishing for praise.
“It was a good answer,” I admit.
“It was true.”
“I know.”
We remain on opposite sides of the island.
“Last night was not a mistake,” I say.
Alexander does not move.
“It wasn’t a promise either.”
“I understand both.”
“It may happen again.”
Desire crosses his face, but he does not come closer.
“When and if you want it to.”
I nod.
I do not go to him that night, and Alexander makes no attempt to close the distance.
When I return to my room, I am still frightened, but now I can name the fear. I am not only afraid that I remain capable of loving Alexander.
I am afraid that, little by little, he is becoming someone I might be able to trust again.