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"Companionship. Partnership. Friendship."
"Okay."
I cocked an eyebrow. "Okay?"
"Yes. I like your company. If you want to be partners, we can set that up, and you can have my share of the Archer business and—."
Merdé!This guywasclueless. "I meant a partnership in the marriage. I don't care about your business."
"What does that mean?"
It hit me then—he had no idea how to be a husband. It wasn't something he said to make an excuse; itwastrue.
"It means we take care of each other, Duncan and be honest with one another. We don't run away. We help each other. We are each other's champions."
He smiled, relief on his face. "I can do all that. I want to do all that, with you."
"Andwe love each other," I added.
His face fell. "I don't know what that means. I get the rest. I'll be loyal to you—in and out of bed. I mean, I only want to fuck you. Iwantto take care of you, and I've never wanted to do that for anyone except the members of my family, which makes sense because you'remywife." He came closer and cupped my cheek. "I don't have a lot of friends. I have business associates. I guess I can learn this friendship thing if you'll teach me."
My husband baffled me. He went from confident man to an oblivious one in seconds.
I had a decision to make. I could send him away or try again. It wasn't really a difficult decision. I already knew what my heart wanted.
"I'll teach you," I vowed.
Chapter 12
Duncan
Her place was fuckingtiny. It reminded me of Emilia's loft in San Francisco before Damian had made it bigger by buying the loft next door.
Elsa's place had a small kitchen, little bedroom, and miniscule bathroom.
I ran a hand through my hair.
"Why do you have that bewildered look on your face?" Elsa asked as she chewed her bottom lip nervously and then added defensively, "I know it's nothing like your place and—"
"It's cozy,ma douce," I cut in with a smile.
The line between cozy and claustrophobic wasthin. But I wasn't lying. There was something serene about Elsa's apartment, almost unbearably so, compared to the vast, opulentspace I was used to on Avenue Montaigne. Here, everything was intimate, close. The walls were lined with shelves overflowing with books, potted plants, and eclectic trinkets that spoke of a life well-lived and well-loved.
The apartment had only one bedroom, just big enough for a queen-sized bed covered in a colorful patchwork quilt. I was used to sprawling out on a king-sized mattress, but here, space was at a premium. I opened the closet and found it packed with Elsa's clothes, leaving barely any room for my own. I chuckled to myself, realizing I'd have to make do with living out of a suitcase for a while.
The bathroom was another challenge—small, typically Parisian, with just enough room for a shower, a sink, and a toilet. I could barely turn around without knocking something over. It was a world away from the marble bathroom in my apartment, with its luxurious bathtub and separate shower.
I walked over to the balcony and looked out. Below, a narrow street buzzed with life—local shops and cafés lined the sidewalks, a world apart from the grand vistas of Avenue Montaigne. The sounds of the city here felt more intimate, more alive. The scent of freshly baked bread from the boulangerie downstairs mingled with the rich aroma of coffee and the occasional waft of crêpes or roasted chestnuts, creating a sensory experience that was unmistakably Parisian.
Despite all these differences, or perhaps because of them, I found myself unexpectedly at ease. The apartment, with its boho chic style, had a warmth and charm that my place didn’t.
Colorful rugs covered the wooden floors, and mismatched furniture created a sense of comfort rather than chaos. Fairy lights were strung across the ceiling, casting a soft, magical glow in the evenings. It was cluttered, yes, but in a way that felt alive and vibrant.
A sense of relaxation washed over me, surprising the hell out of me. I hadn't realized how tense I'd been until I felt the knots in my shoulders start to loosen. There was something incredibly soothing about this space, something that made me feel more at home than I had in years.
Elsa bustled in from the kitchen, a smile on her face as she wiped her hands on a floral apron. "I know it's not what you're used to," she said, looking around the apartment with a touch of self-consciousness. "But I hope you can feel at ease here."
I came in from the narrow balcony and took her hands in mine. "It's different," I admitted. "But in a good way. I like it here, Elsa. Ireallydo."
