Chapter 3

“Micah Rowan’s.”

Rhys’s expression changed.

“Why were you with Micah Rowan?”

“I wasn’t with him. I stopped at his bookstore.”

His gaze traveled over the coat again, lingering on the sleeves that covered my hands. The room was dark except for the lamp beside him, but I could see the tension gathering in his jaw.

“At eleven o’clock at night?”

“I felt sick while I was driving.”

“What do you mean, sick?”

For the first time, his attention reached my face. My hair was still wet, and the ache beneath my ribs had settled into a steady pulse. I tightened my arm against my side.

“I got dizzy, so I pulled over.”

“And Rowan happened to be there?”

“He owns the store, Rhys.”

Rhys came closer. His eyes moved from my face to the coat, as though a piece of another man’s clothing disturbed him more than the fact that I had nearly collapsed.

“Did he drive you home?”

“He called me a cab.”

“You should have called me.”

A bitter laugh almost escaped me. Less than an hour earlier, he had told a room full of people that he would never have married me if Blair had stayed. Now he sounded offended that I had not asked him to rescue me.

“You were busy drinking to Blair.”

“That isn’t the same thing.”

“No. I suppose it isn’t.”

His shoulders stiffened. Rain tapped against the windows behind us, filling the silence that neither of us seemed willing to break.

“Blair is different,” he said at last.

“Because she came first?”

“Because she saved my life.”

The pain beneath my ribs sharpened.

I looked at the place under his shirt where his transplant scar began. He had no idea how many nights I had lain beside him listening to his breathing, afraid the sacrifice would still not be enough.

“You’re right,” I said. “There’s no comparison.”

He frowned, sensing something in my answer without understanding it.

Then his gaze dropped to the hand pressed against my side.

“You’re pale.”

“I’m tired.”

“Let me see.”

He reached for my forehead. I stepped back before his fingers touched me.

His hand stopped between us.

I had never pulled away from him before. The surprise on his face lasted only a moment, but I saw it.

“What is wrong with you tonight?”

“Nothing you need to worry about.”

“If you were sick, you should have called me.”

Concern sat beneath the irritation in his voice, but it came too late. He had noticed another man’s coat before he noticed I could barely stand.

“Why?” I asked. “So you could leave the toast early?”

His mouth flattened.

“You’re angry about what happened at the bar.”

“I’m wet, exhausted, and being interrogated in my own hallway.”

“Then take off his coat.”

There it was.

Not an apology. Not a question about whether I needed a doctor. Just an order to remove something another man had placed around me.

“My dress is still wet,” I said.

Rhys crossed the room, pulled the cashmere throw from the couch and held it out.

“Use this.”

I removed Micah’s coat slowly and folded it over my arm. Rhys relaxed the instant it was no longer touching me.

“I’ll have my assistant return it tomorrow,” he said.

“No. I borrowed it. I’ll return it.”

“Mara—”

“Good night, Rhys.”

I walked upstairs before he could turn my refusal into another argument.

The following morning, I left his weekly pill organizer empty.

Rhys found it beside the prescription bottles while I was collecting my keys.

“You forgot this.”

“No, I didn’t.”

His fingers rested on the plastic lid. For years, I had separated every dose without being asked. He had stopped seeing it as care and begun treating it like part of the house—something that functioned because it belonged to him.

“The instructions are on the bottles,” I said.

I left before he could answer.

By Friday, eighty-seven days remained.

The blue guest room still had a dust cover over the bed. There were no flowers, toiletries or fresh towels waiting for Blair.

Rhys stood in the doorway, taking in the untouched room.

“Why isn’t it ready?”

“Because Blair is your guest.”

“She’s staying in our house.”

I closed the folder containing copies of my identification and financial records. His eyes flicked toward it, but I placed it in the drawer before he could ask.

“Then you can prepare her room in our house.”

“Is this about the bar?”

“No.”

“The coat?”

He sounded almost impatient now, as if he only needed to identify the correct grievance before everything returned to normal.

“Not everything I stop doing is a punishment, Rhys.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Sometimes it means I’m done doing it.”

Uncertainty crossed his face. Then he checked the time and called the housekeeper.

Before leaving for the airport, he changed into the charcoal sweater Blair had once said made his eyes look silver.

At the front door, he glanced back at me.

“You should rest tonight.”

“I will.”

“Do you need anything?”

Once, that question would have fed my hope for weeks. Now I understood how little it cost him.

“No.”

He hesitated, then picked up his keys.

“Blair’s flight has landed.”

After he left, I went upstairs and removed the last of my books from the blue room.

Headlights swept across the wall as I closed the box.

One car door slammed outside.

Then another.

Rhys had come home.

And he hadn’t come home alone.