Chapter 183
Chapter 183
Elena
We were nearly at the training facility when he spoke again, his voice carefully neutral. "This morning, when I laid out your clothes... I stood by your bed for almost three minutes, just watching you sleep."
I held my breath.
"You were curled on your side, one hand tucked under your cheek. Your hair had come loose from its braid. There was a small wrinkle between your eyebrows, as if even in sleep you were worried about something." His hands flexed on the wheel. "And I had to physically force myself to leave the room, because what I wanted—what I want—is to climb into that bed beside you and smooth that wrinkle away. To be there when you wake up, to be the first thing you see every morning."
"Étienne—"
"I'm not finished." His voice had gone quiet, almost dangerous. "You asked me last night if I wanted you to stop touching me. The truth is, I don't want you to stop. I want you to never stop. I want to fall asleep listening to you breathe and wake up with you in my arms. I want to know every sound you make, every expression that crosses your face, every thought that keeps you awake at night." He pulled into the facility parking lot but didn't immediately turn off the engine. "So when you say things like 'I want you to take up space in my life,' you need to understand that I will take up all the space. Every corner. Every moment. Because I don't know how to do this halfway."
My throat had gone completely dry. "I don't want you to do it halfway."
He finally turned off the engine, and in the sudden silence, I could hear both our breathing, slightly too fast. "Then we need to be very clear about what we're doing here. Because once we start, I won't be able to stop. I won't want to stop."
"Good," I whispered. "Because neither will I."
---
He walked me to the entrance, carrying my training bag despite my protests, his hand hovering at the small of my back without quite touching. At the door, he finally set down the bag, and we stood facing each other, neither quite willing to be the first to step away.
"Thank you," I said softly. "For this morning. For everything."
"You don't need to thank me." His voice had gone rough again. "Taking care of you isn't a burden, Elena. It's the easiest thing I've ever done."
Before I could second-guess myself, I rose on my toes and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth—not quite his lips, not quite his cheek, but something in between that felt like a promise. When I pulled back, he had gone completely still, his eyes dark and unreadable.
"What was that for?" His voice came out barely above a whisper.
"For driving me," I said, unable to suppress a smile. "I'll see you later?"
I grabbed my bag and slipped through the door before he could respond, but not before I caught the way his hand lifted to his face, fingers tracing the spot where my lips had been.
Étienne
I sat in the car for a full five minutes after Elena disappeared into the training facility, my fingers pressed to the corner of my mouth where I could still feel the phantom warmth of her kiss. It had been barely a brush of lips against skin, over in less than a second, and yet it had detonated something in my chest that I was still trying to contain.
For driving me. As if that simple act deserved such a reward. As if I wouldn't drive her to the ends of the earth if she asked.
My phone buzzed with a reminder about the morning's board meeting. Under normal circumstances, I would already be mentally preparing, reviewing the numbers, anticipating objections. Instead, I found myself replaying the morning in obsessive detail: the way Elena had looked emerging from her bedroom, sleep-rumpled and slightly panicked; how she'd eaten the breakfast I'd prepared with single-minded focus; the confession in the car that she slept better knowing I was near.
Knowing you're just in the next room.
The words had hit me with physical force. All this time, I'd been lying to myself that distance would diminish this thing between us. Instead, she was telling me that my proximity was what she needed, what made her feel safe.
---
The board meeting was a disaster.
I made it through the first fifteen minutes on autopilot, presenting the quarterly financial overview with my usual precision. But when Bertrand from Asset Management tried to deflect criticism by suggesting we needed to "recalibrate our risk tolerance," I found myself staring at him blankly, my mind suddenly full of Elena's voice: You already occupy so much space in my life.
"Étienne?" My CFO, Laurent, was looking at me with concern. "Did you want to respond to Bertrand's suggestion?"
I blinked, forcing myself back to the present. "Asset Management's underperformance has nothing to do with risk tolerance and everything to do with poor decision-making. The question isn't whether we should recalibrate—it's whether we should replace the decision-makers."
The words came out harsher than I'd intended. Several board members exchanged glances. Bertrand's face had gone pale.
"Perhaps we should take a short break," Laurent suggested.
I nodded, already standing. "Fifteen minutes."
In my private bathroom, I splashed cold water on my face and stared at my reflection. I looked exactly like what I was: a man who'd gotten perhaps three hours of sleep, who'd spent half the night listening to the woman he loved toss and turn, who'd woken at dawn to prepare breakfast with meticulous care.
My phone buzzed. A text from Elena: Michel says my form is better today. Thank you for making me rest.
I typed and deleted three different responses before settling on: Your form is always excellent. But I'm glad you're feeling strong.
Her reply came almost immediately: I'm feeling strong because of you.
Christ. She was going to kill me.
---
I managed to get through the rest of the board meeting, but by the time I returned to my office at eleven, I knew I was in trouble. The carefully constructed walls I'd spent five years building had been reduced to rubble by a single kiss to the corner of my mouth and three words: because of you.
I sat at my desk, staring at financial reports, and all I could see was Elena's face this morning across the breakfast table, the way she'd looked at me like I was something necessary and precious.
I needed to move. Needed to do something with this restless energy.
The Beaumont Group headquarters had a private gym in the basement, used almost exclusively by me. I changed into workout clothes and took the private elevator down, grateful that at two-thirty on a Saturday afternoon, I'd have the space to myself.
My personal trainer, Kai, was waiting. "Monsieur Beaumont. I wasn't expecting you today."
"I need to work," I said shortly, moving toward the free weights.
"Your usual routine?"
"No." I grabbed a forty-five-pound plate and loaded it onto the barbell. "I need something harder."