Chapter 176
Rowan's POV
I'd been planning this for nearly a week.
These two days, I left before Lena woke, claiming urgent meetings at the office, and every night I returned after she'd already retreated to her room. The truth was simpler and infinitely more complicated: I was preparing for her birthday. A birthday she'd never mentioned during our two years of marriage. A birthday I'd never thought to ask about.
Martha had been my first conspirator. "Mr. Reynolds, if you're serious about this, you need to understand what she actually likes," she'd said, hands on her hips in that way that meant she was about to tell me uncomfortable truths. "Not what you think she should like. What she actually likes."
So I'd listened. I'd asked Emily, who'd given me a look that could have peeled paint before grudgingly offering details. I'd consulted with Isabelle, who'd been delighted and immediately taken charge of half the logistics. I'd even tracked down Rachel and Sophia, who'd been suspicious at first but warmed when they realized I was genuinely trying.
Green tea instead of coffee. Matcha mousse cake instead of chocolate. Delicate finger foods instead of heavy courses. Soft lighting instead of harsh brightness. Everything calibrated to the woman I'd lived with for two years but never really seen.
Standing in that doorway tonight, watching her face as she took in the room full of people who actually knew her, actually cared about her, I'd felt my chest constrict. For one terrible moment, I thought she was going to cry, and not in a good way. Her eyes had gone bright and glassy, her throat working, and the entire room had frozen in collective panic.
Then she'd made that joke about emotional manipulation and eating all the food, and everyone had laughed, and the tension had shattered. But I'd seen it. That split second when she'd been so overwhelmed by being cared for that she'd almost broken down.
How had I never given her this? How had I been so focused on maintaining distance, on keeping our arrangement clean and professional, that I'd never once celebrated the day she was born?
Throughout dinner, I'd stayed on the periphery, watching her. Really watching her. The way she laughed at Isabelle's stories about my childhood. The way she leaned in when Diana spoke, her concern evident despite Diana's assurances. The way she smiled at the ridiculous, off-key birthday song, covering her face but unable to hide her genuine amusement.
She looked happy. Actually, truly happy. And I wanted to be the reason for that happiness, not just the architect of a single evening.
Now the apartment was quiet, the guests gone, Emily having made her exit with a knowing look that I'd chosen to ignore. Lena stood in the middle of the living room, surrounded by balloons and fairy lights, looking at me with an expression I couldn't quite read.
"I should go," I said, even though the thought of leaving felt like tearing off skin. "But first—your gift. It's not here yet, but I wanted to explain—"
"You said it was being finalized," Lena interrupted softly. She was still wearing that expression, guarded but curious.
I reached into my jacket pocket, my fingers closing around the small velvet box I'd been carrying for three days, waiting for the right moment. "I lied," I admitted. "It's been ready. I just—I wasn't sure how to give it to you."
Her eyebrows rose slightly. "Rowan—"
"Let me do this," I said quietly. "Please."
She nodded, and I stepped closer, opening the box to reveal the necklace inside.
It was simple—a delicate silver chain with a small pendant, the design abstract but elegant, flowing lines that reminded me of the way she moved through the world. Graceful. Purposeful. Beautiful in its restraint.
"I made this," I said, watching her face. "I found a jeweler—a master craftsman—and I asked him to teach me. It took me four tries to get it right, and he probably thought I was insane, but I wanted—" I paused, searching for the right words. "You gave me those cufflinks. The ones I wore to every important meeting recently. I only know you made them yourself after we parted, and I never—I never gave you anything that mattered."
Lena's fingers trembled slightly as she reached for the box, lifting the necklace to examine it in the soft light. "Rowan, you didn't have to—"
"Yes, I did." The words came out rougher than I intended. "I should have done this a long time ago. I should have asked about your birthday. I should have asked about a lot of things. What you liked, what you wanted, what you were thinking when you looked at me like—like you're looking at me right now."
She set the necklace back in the box carefully, her throat working. "How am I looking at you?"
"Like you're trying to figure out if I'm real," I said. "Like you're waiting for me to disappoint you again."
"Rowan—"
"I love you."
The words fell into the space between us like stones into still water, sending ripples through everything. Lena went very still, her eyes wide.
"I love the way you organize your files by color and date even though it drives everyone else crazy," I continued, the words tumbling out now that I'd started. "I love how you take your tea with exactly one sugar and no milk, and how you always read the last page of a book first to see if it's worth your time. I love that you're brilliant and ruthless in a courtroom but you can't watch sad movies without crying. I love that you gave two years of your life to a marriage that never should have been a contract in the first place, and you did it with grace even when I gave you nothing in return."
"Stop," she whispered, but there were tears on her cheeks now.