Chapter 48 Lines I shouldn't cross
Timothy
I carried her through the front doors without breaking stride, her weight steady in my arms, lighter than it should have been, heavier than I wanted it to feel.
Bridal style.
The absurdity of the thought struck me even as I adjusted my grip so her head wouldn’t loll back. Her cheek brushed my chest, warm through the thin fabric of my shirt. She sighed softly in her sleep and curled closer, fingers bunching into the lapel of my jacket as if she belonged there.
I told myself it was reflex. Nothing more.
Lisa was waiting in the foyer, arms loosely folded, expression unreadable until her brows flicked upward, just a fraction.
I didn’t meet her eyes.
“Have the guards bring the bags in,” I said quietly, nodding toward the door.
She made a small sound in her throat that might have been amusement or disbelief but nodded. I chose not to ask.
I took the stairs two at a time, careful despite the impatience coiling in my limbs. Hannah stirred once when I adjusted her, murmuring something unintelligible before settling again. Her hair had slipped loose from its tie, strands clinging to her cheek.
When I reached her room, I nudged the door open with my foot.
Her room was…soft.
That was the first word that came to mind.
Muted lighting, warm tones, curtains half-drawn. It smelled faintly of citrus and something floral; her shampoo, probably. The space felt lived-in in a way the rest of the house did not. Personal. Untamed.
I crossed to the bed and lowered her carefully onto the mattress. She shifted, a small frown appearing between her brows, then relaxed when her back met the sheets.
Two guards entered behind me, arms full of shopping bags.
“Over there,” I murmured, pointing toward the corner near the dresser.
They set the bags down neatly, gave a silent nod, and left without a word.
The door clicked shut.
I stood there for a moment, hands still hovering as if she might fall even though she was safely sprawled on the bed.
She wore flats. I knelt and slipped them off gently, placing them side by side. She squirmed slightly, toes curling, but didn’t wake.
“Easy,” I muttered under my breath, unsure who I was speaking to.
I reached up and loosened the ponytail from her hair, the tie sliding free. Her hair spilled over the pillow in a dark wave. I covered her with the duvet, pulling it up to her shoulders.
Then I straightened.
And stayed.
My eyes moved slowly around the room, taking in details I’d never bothered to notice before. A half-finished painting propped against the wall. A stack of books by the window, dog-eared and loved. A throw blanket draped haphazardly over a chair.
This was her space.
I shouldn’t be here.
On the bedside table, a book lay open. I stepped closer and picked it up absentmindedly, intending to close it.
It wasn’t a book.
It was a journal.
My fingers stilled.
I shouldn’t look. I knew that instantly. The boundary was clear, sharp as glass.
But my eyes had already caught something.
My name.
Once. Twice. More.
Heat flared low in my chest, curiosity sharpening into something dangerous. I flipped a single page before I could stop myself.
…the other day, Timothy…
I dropped the journal as if it had burned me.
It hit the table with a soft thud.
“No,” I said quietly, to the empty room, to myself. “No.”
I stepped back, heart thudding harder than it had any right to. My gaze flicked to her face, so peaceful in sleep, lashes dark against her skin.
She was…beautiful.
The thought landed fully formed, uninvited, undeniable.
I took another step back, shaken.
This was not attraction. It couldn’t be. She was my wife in name only, a complication, a necessity. Nothing more.
I turned and left the room without looking back.
\---
The bar room was dim and cool, exactly as it should be.
Lisa was already there, as if she’d known I’d end up here. She poured a glass of wine without asking and slid it across the counter toward me, then handed me a tablet.
“Updates from while you were out,” she said. “Two calls from legal. One from Martin. The Gregory file came back.”
I took the glass, took a sip, then set it down untouched. My attention was on the tablet, scrolling through reports, numbers, logistics.
Safe ground.
Lisa filled in details efficiently, professionally. When she finished, silence settled between us.
Then she spoke again.
“Do you know what you’re doing?”
I stopped scrolling. “What?”
She didn’t flinch. “I asked if you know what you’re doing.”
I laughed once, sharp. “With what?”
“With her.”
I looked up slowly. “Watch your tone.”
She met my gaze evenly. “I have.”
I straightened. “There is nothing going on.”
She tilted her head. “I didn’t say there was. I said you don’t know what you’re doing.”
“I’m managing the situation,” I said tightly.
“Are you?” she asked softly. “Because from where I’m standing, you’ve stopped bringing women home. You’re eating every meal with her. You carried her upstairs like…”
“Enough,” I snapped.
She didn’t stop. “And you look at her like you’re trying not to.”
I had no response.
I hated that she was right.
“This arrangement was supposed to be clean,” she continued. “You were pretty sure of it. And you treated her very harshly. But now, you’re blurring lines.”
“There are no lines to be blurred,” I said harshly. “The marriage isn’t real.”
She studied me for a long moment. “That doesn’t mean the people in it aren’t.”
I set the tablet down with more force than necessary. “That will be all, Lisa.”
She hesitated. “Timothy…”
“That’s an order.”
Something flickered in her eyes, concern or defiance or hurt, maybe. Then she nodded once.
“Goodnight,” she said quietly, and left.
The door closed behind her.
Silence rushed in.
I dragged a hand through my hair and exhaled slowly, staring at nothing.
Upstairs, Hannah slept.
The thought lodged itself in my mind and refused to leave.