Chapter 33 THIRTY-THREE
The storm rolled in around six, turning the sky dark and angry way too early for November. Lennox was getting ready for some dinner thing Patricia had scheduled when the first crack of thunder shook the windows hard enough to rattle the glass.
Her phone buzzed. Text from Patricia: Darling, dinner's canceled. Roads are a disaster. Stay safe.
Well. That was unexpected.
She changed out of the dress she'd been zipping up, threw on leggings and an oversized sweater, and padded barefoot to the kitchen. Callum was already there, jacket off, tie loose, staring at his phone with that expression he got when plans changed without his permission.
"Your mum canceled," Lennox said.
"I know. She just texted me too." He looked up. "Storm's supposed to last all night."
"Guess we're stuck here then."
"Looks like it."
Another rumble of thunder, this one loud enough that Lennox jumped slightly. Rain hammered against the windows, turning the city view into a blur of lights and water. It was kind of beautiful actually, in a dramatic way.
The lights flickered once. Twice.
Then went out completely.
"Shit," Callum muttered.
The penthouse plunged into darkness except for the glow of the city below filtering through rain-streaked windows. Not enough to see much by, just shapes and shadows.
"Does this happen a lot?" Lennox asked.
"Never." She heard him moving, opening drawers. "Building has backup generators. They should kick in any second."
They waited. Nothing happened.
"Or not," she said.
"Or not."
More fumbling sounds. Then a tiny flame appeared as Callum lit a match, his face suddenly visible in the warm glow. He looked almost unreal like this.
He started lighting candles from a drawer she didn't even know they had. Apparently Maria kept emergency supplies stashed everywhere. Within a few minutes, the kitchen and living room had enough candlelight to see by, though everything still felt dim and intimate in a way the penthouse never did with all its modern lighting.
"Well," Lennox said, leaning against the counter. "This is atmospheric."
Callum almost smiled. "One way to put it."
"Wine?"
He looked at her. "You want wine?"
"I mean, we were supposed to go out. I was mentally prepared for alcohol. And we're stuck here anyway." She opened the wine fridge, grabbed a bottle that looked expensive because they all looked expensive. "Might as well."
He hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. Okay."
She found glasses while he opened the bottle. They were both wound too tight lately. A drink might actually help.
They ended up in the living room because the kitchen felt too bright with all Maria's candles. Lennox curled up on one end of the massive couch, Callum sat on the other, the bottle on the coffee table between them. Rain continued hammering the windows. Thunder rolled somewhere in the distance.
"To storm-induced captivity," Lennox said, raising her glass.
"To canceled plans." He clinked his glass against hers.
The wine was good. Smooth and rich and way better than anything she'd have bought for herself back in Queens. She took a long drink, felt warmth spread through her chest.
They sat in silence for a while. Not the awkward kind from breakfast lately, just... quiet. Like two people who didn't need to fill every second with conversation. The candlelight made everything feel softer somehow, less sharp-edged than usual.
"This is weird, right?" Lennox said eventually.
"What is?"
"This. Us. Sitting here drinking wine like we're actually a couple instead of..." She gestured vaguely. "Whatever we are."
Callum's mouth twitched. "Contractual associates?"
"I was going to say strangers who share a zip code."
"That too."
She laughed, surprised it came so easily. "God, this is ridiculous. We live together. We're married. And I don't even know basic stuff about you."
"Like what?"
"I don't know. Normal things. Like..." She tried to think. "What do you do when you can't sleep?"
He looked at her over his wine glass. "How do you know I can't sleep?"
"Please. I hear you pacing sometimes. And you always look exhausted at breakfast."
"Observant."
"Bored," she corrected. "There's a difference."
He was quiet for a moment, then sighed. "I work mostly. Answer emails. Review contracts. Sometimes I just... stand at the window and watch the city."
"That's depressing."
"Probably." He refilled his glass. "What about you?"
"What about me?"
"Do you sleep?"
"Not really. Not lately anyway." She pulled her knees up, wrapped her arms around them. "I keep thinking about too many things. It's annoying."
"What kind of things?"
Everything. The investigation that was getting more complicated by the day. Victor's too-friendly smile. Adrian's generous donation. The way Callum had kissed her at the gallery and then acted like it meant nothing. How she was two months into a fake marriage and somehow more confused about her life than when she started.
"Just stuff," she said instead. "Work things mostly."
"The youth center?"
"Yeah. And other projects." Not technically a lie.
Thunder cracked again, closer this time. The candles flickered, shadows dancing across Callum's face. He'd taken off his tie completely now, top button undone, looking more relaxed than she'd seen him in days. Or maybe it was just the wine and the darkness making everything feel less formal.
"You're good at it," he said quietly. "What you do with those kids."
She looked at him, surprised. "You've never even seen me teach."
"Mum showed me pictures from that donor event. You looked..." He paused. "Happy. More than I've seen you here."
Something twisted in her chest. "Well. It's easier to be happy when you're actually helping people instead of just pretending to be someone you're not."
The words came out sharper than she meant. Callum's expression shuttered slightly.
"Sorry," she added. "That wasn't..."
"No, you're right." He stared into his wine. "This whole thing is about pretending."
More silence. Heavier this time.
Lennox finished her glass, poured more. She was definitely feeling the wine now, warmth spreading through her limbs, making everything feel slightly fuzzy around the edges.
"Can I ask you something?" she said.
"Depends what it is."
"Why did you really agree to this? The marriage. I know about the will but..." She gestured around the penthouse. "You could've found someone else. Someone who actually belonged in this world."
Callum was quiet for so long she thought he wouldn't answer. Then: "You were perfect."
"Perfect?"
"On paper. No connections, no agenda, desperate enough to agree without asking too many questions." He met her eyes. "You seemed... safe. Like you wouldn't want anything from me except what was written in the contract."
"And do I?"
"I don't know anymore." His voice dropped. "Do you?"
The question hung between them, heavy with implications neither was ready to unpack.
"I don't know either," she admitted quietly.
The rain kept falling. The candles kept flickering. They kept drinking.
Somewhere around the third glass, Callum shifted slightly, his leg almost touching hers on the couch. She didn't move away. Neither did he. Just sat there with maybe three inches between them, close enough that she could feel the heat of him, smell his cologne mixed with rain and something uniquely him.
"This is dangerous," she said softly.
"What is?"
"This. Being honest. It's easier when we're just..." She searched for words through the wine haze. "Playing parts."
"Yeah." He sounded tired. "It is."
But neither of them moved. Neither suggested going to bed, ending this weird suspended moment where they were just two people trapped by a storm, sharing wine and half-truths in candlelight.
"I should probably eat something," Lennox said eventually. "Or I'm going to regret this bottle tomorrow."
"There are leftovers."
They migrated to the kitchen, rummaged through the fridge, ended up eating cold pasta straight from containers while leaning against the counter. It was absurd and kind of perfect, this moment of normalcy in their strange arrangement.
The power flickered back on around ten, sudden and jarring. Overhead lights blazing, the hum of the HVAC system, reality crashing back in.
They both winced at the brightness.
"Well," Lennox said. "That's that, I guess."
"Yeah."
The spell broke. Whatever weird intimacy had existed in the darkness disappeared under fluorescent lighting and the return of the real world. They cleaned up in awkward silence, put the wine away, blew out the now-unnecessary candles.
"I should..." Lennox gestured toward her room.
"Right. Me too."
They walked down the hallway together, stopped at their separate doors like always.
"Good night," she said.
"Night."
She went inside, closed the door, leaned against it for a moment. Her head was spinning slightly from the wine, but that wasn't why her heart was pounding.
She got ready for bed on autopilot, mind replaying the evening. The way he'd looked at her across candlelight. How close they'd sat. The questions neither had really answered.
She climbed into bed, stared at the ceiling.
In the next room, she heard water running. Callum getting ready for bed too. Then silence.
She wondered if he was lying awake like her. If he was thinking about the same things. If the storm had revealed something neither of them wanted to acknowledge in daylight.
The penthouse was quiet except for the fading sound of rain against windows.
Lennox rolled over, pulled the covers up, and tried to sleep.
In his room, Callum was doing the exact same thing.
Both lying awake.
Both thinking about what had almost been said in the darkness.
Both knowing that tomorrow they'd go back to being polite strangers who happened to share an address and a last name and nothing else.
Both wishing, just a little, that the storm had lasted longer.