Chapter 2
Kellan came to our bedroom after midnight.
I was sitting at the vanity, removing the silver pins from my hair. Our anniversary gifts remained unopened on the table behind me.
He closed the door quietly. "You disappeared."
"I heard you talking to Lyra."
His gaze met mine in the mirror.
"How much?"
"Enough."
I turned to face him. "Why didn't you tell her no?"
"Because the question didn't deserve an answer."
"It deserved one from my husband."
Kellan dragged a hand over his face. He looked exhausted, which almost made me soften. For seven years, I had known every line of strain around his eyes. I had spent most of our marriage helping him carry whatever caused them.
Tonight, I kept my hands in my lap.
"Lyra is grieving," he said. "She isn't thinking clearly."
"That doesn't explain why you let her sit in my place."
"I already told you. She needed support."
"And when I told you it hurt me?"
His jaw tightened. "Must everything be measured by which one of you is hurting more?"
"No. But only one of us is your wife."
The bond carried a flash of frustration from him.
"Do you hear yourself?" he asked. "You're competing with a woman who just buried her husband."
"I don't want to compete with her. I want you to tell her where the line is."
"Fine. What do you want me to say?"
"She doesn't sit in my place. She doesn't hold your hand while I stand there watching. And when she asks whether she should have been your mate, you tell her no."
Kellan looked toward the unopened gifts.
"I won't punish her for something she said while grieving."
"Then what happens now?"
"She stays until she's stable."
The answer came too quickly.
"What do you mean, stays?"
"Here." He gestured vaguely toward the house. "The east guest room has already been prepared."
I stood so fast the vanity stool struck the wall.
"You invited her to live with us?"
"She cannot be alone at night."
"We have guest cottages. We have guards. Mara could arrange for someone to stay with her."
"She feels safe here."
"I live here."
His expression hardened. "This is my home too, Erin."
The words landed with quiet precision.
Not our home. His.
I walked past him and opened the bedroom door. At the end of the corridor, two housekeepers were carrying fresh linens into the east guest room.
They had known before I did.
Kellan stepped behind me. "I was going to tell you."
"When?"
"When you were calmer."
I almost laughed. My calmness had become another reason I could be handled later.
A vehicle sounded in the courtyard.
Through the upper window, I saw Lyra step out beneath the porch lights. Two guards unloaded her suitcases while she stood clutching a small brass key.
I headed for the stairs. Kellan followed. By the time we reached the landing, Lyra was already at the front door below us.
She slipped the key into the lock and opened the door herself.
Her gaze moved from Kellan to me.
"I hope this is still all right," she said.
Kellan glanced at me. "My father gave her that years ago."
Lyra closed her fingers around the key.
"I couldn't bring myself to throw it away."
Neither of them seemed to understand that the problem was not the key.
It was that some part of her had always expected it to work.