Chapter 86 Unspoken
Hannah
For a long time neither of us moved.
Timothy stayed folded into me, his head resting against my shoulder, my arms loosely around him. I could feel the rise and fall of his breathing through the thin fabric of his shirt. At first it had been tight and uneven, like he was holding something heavy inside his chest.
Slowly, it began to steady.
I kept scratching lightly at his scalp, my fingers moving in slow, absent circles the way my mother used to do when I was younger. I didn’t know why I started doing it. It just felt… natural. Like the most instinctive thing in the world.
The room had gone quiet around us.
The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast warm light across the floor, the portrait still resting on the table where Timothy had set it down. I could see the edge of it from where we stood, the golden sunset painted across the vineyard fields.
It had taken weeks to commission.
Weeks of back and forth with the artist, describing the estate from photographs and memory. Adding the little details I knew would matter—the particular curve of the house roof, the long rows of vines stretching into the horizon.
And the three figures in the front.
I hadn’t even been sure if that part would be welcome.
But when Timothy said he loved it, something in my chest had loosened.
Finally, after what felt like forever, he shifted.
The movement was small at first. Just a breath drawn a little deeper.
Then slowly, carefully, he straightened.
His arms slipped away from around me.
The warmth of him disappeared almost immediately.
Timothy cleared his throat.
When I looked up at him, he wasn’t looking at me.
His gaze was fixed somewhere near the floor, his posture suddenly stiff again like he had remembered himself.
Like he had remembered who we were supposed to be.
“I…” he started, his voice rough.
He cleared his throat again.
“I love it.”
His eyes flicked briefly toward the portrait before dropping again.
“Thank you.”
The words were simple, but they felt sincere.
I smiled softly.
“I’m glad.”
He still wasn’t looking at me.
So I kept talking, trying to keep the moment light.
“I’m glad I could make your birthday enjoyable.”
His shoulders shifted slightly at that.
“And next year,” I added with a small grin, “we’ll make sure it’s a proper one.”
The words left my mouth automatically.
But the moment they did…My smile faltered.
Next year.
The thought struck me like a quiet, unpleasant truth.
Next year we wouldn’t be here. Next year we wouldn’t be married.
The agreement had been clear from the beginning.
One year.
Just one year of this arrangement to stabilize the estate, quiet the gossip, satisfy the board members and investors who demanded the image of a respectable household.
Then we would separate.
Cleanly.
Quietly.
The contract would end.
And whatever this strange, fragile thing between us had become…
Would end with it.
The room felt different suddenly.
Quieter.
Heavier.
I wondered if Timothy had thought the same thing.
I cleared my throat quickly, taking a step back.
“I should go,” I said.
My voice sounded more formal than I intended. “It’s late already.”
I turned slightly toward the door.
But before I could take another step, a hand caught mine.
My breath snagged.
Timothy’s fingers wrapped around my wrist.
“Hannah.”
His voice was quieter this time.
I turned back slowly.
He was looking at me now.
And the expression on his face made my heart stumble.
He looked… lost.
That was the only word for it.
Lost and uncertain.
But beneath that uncertainty there was something else.
Something raw.
Something that looked dangerously close to want.
For a moment neither of us spoke.
We just stood there, staring at each other.
The air between us felt thick.
Charged.
I could feel my pulse hammering in my ears.
Say something.
Do something.
My mind scrambled uselessly.
But whatever he had been about to say, whatever hought had brought that look into his eyes, I couldn’t bear to hear it.
Because suddenly I was afraid. Afraid of what might happen if he said it. Afraid of what might happen if I answered.
My gaze dropped from his.
I took a shaky breath. And the moment broke.
His fingers loosened. He let go of my hand.
“Yeah,” he said stiffly, the word sounding almost mechanical. “Goodnight.”
The sudden distance in his tone hurt more than I expected.
“Goodnight,” I murmured.
Then I turned and left.
I didn’t walk.
I practically fled.
My heart was pounding so hard by the time I reached the stairs that I had to slow down just to breathe properly.
What was that?
What was he about to say?
The look on his face replayed over and over in my head.
That mixture of confusion and longing.
It had been unmistakable.
And it terrified me.
Because whatever this thing between us had become…
It was no longer simple.
By the time I reached the lounge, my nerves were buzzing.
The room was dim, only the soft glow of a lamp lighting the space.
Momo was curled up on the couch, fast asleep.
His tiny chest rose and fell slowly.
Seeing him grounded me immediately.
“Oh, Momo,” I whispered softly.
I walked over and scooped him carefully into my arms.
He stirred slightly but didn’t wake.
I carried him upstairs to my room, settling him into the little bed near the window. I tucked the blanket gently around him before stepping back.
For a moment I just stood there watching him sleep.
Then I sighed and went to change.
My mind refused to slow down.
Every moment from the last hour replayed in vivid detail.
Timothy’s arms around me.
The way he had leaned into my hug like he hadn’t been held in years.
The look in his eyes when he grabbed my hand.
What was he going to say?
I pulled on my sleep shirt and crawled into bed, pulling the blanket over myself.
The room was dark now.
But sleep didn’t come.
My mind kept spinning.
This whole situation was getting out of control.
That was the truth I couldn’t ignore anymore.
What started as a simple arrangement, a convenient marriage to save his family’s reputation and keep our families names afloat, was slowly turning into something neither of us had planned for.
Something neither of us had prepared for.
And I was scared.
Scared we were losing our grip on it.
Scared that one of us would eventually cross a line we couldn’t uncross.
Scared that when the year ended…
It would hurt more than either of us expected.
I tossed onto my side.
Then onto my back.
Then onto the other side again.
The sheets twisted around my legs.
My thoughts wouldn’t stop.
Eventually, exhaustion must have won.
Because sometime in the early hours of the morning, I finally drifted off.
\---
When I woke up again, sunlight was already filtering through the curtains.
My eyes opened slowly.
For a moment I lay there staring at the ceiling, disoriented.
Then the memories of last night rushed back all at once.
The hug.
The almost-confession.
The tension.
My stomach tightened.
I checked the clock.
It was early.
Too early.
I groaned quietly and dragged myself out of bed.
Technically, I didn’t even need to be awake.
I had the day off from the shelter today. For once I could have slept until noon if I wanted.
But my body clearly hadn’t gotten the memo.
I got ready slowly, my mind still replaying last night’s events in a constant loop.
By the time I finished getting dressed, my nerves had already started creeping back in.
Breakfast.
Timothy would be there.
Would it be awkward?
Would he pretend nothing happened?
Would he bring it up?
My stomach twisted again.
I headed downstairs.
The dining room was bright with morning light streaming through the tall windows.
But the chair at the head of the table was empty.
Lisa looked up from arranging the table when I entered.
“Good morning, Mrs. Blackwood.”
“Good morning,” I replied automatically, glancing around.
“Mr. Blackwood asked me to inform you,” Lisa continued politely, “that he will be missing breakfast this morning.”
My chest tightened slightly.
“And… he mentioned he would be absent for the entire day.”
Oh.
I felt my shoulders drop.
So this was how it was going to be.
Avoidance.
Was he running from what almost happened last night?
Was that easier for him?
Lisa looked at me expectantly.
“Would you like to eat breakfast now, ma’am?”
I forced a small smile.
“Yes,” I said.
My voice felt tight.
“I’ll have it in my room.”
“Of course.”
I turned away before she could see the expression slipping from my face.
And slowly, woodenly, I walked back upstairs