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I point over her shoulder to where the car is parked a few spaces away from the door to Graham's office.
"How did Graham know about our contract?" she asks. "How did he find the pictures?"
I turn my face away. "I was careless, left papers on my desk on our wedding day. Graham slunk into my office before he hounded you, before the ceremony even began. The papers included the contract and a report from the investigator about Sebastian."
"Not your fault. Why did you have the contract out?"
She doesn't need to know I've often taken the contract out and re-read it, perhaps to punish myself.
I jerk my head toward the Jaguar's open door. "Go."
Though I can tell she wants to argue, my cold demeanor seems to change her mind. She climbs into the car.
Shutting the door, I shuffle back to the Mercedes.
On the way home, I obey all traffic laws and stare straight ahead at the road. As soon as we've walked into the house, Emery sags against the wall in the ground-floor hallway.
She aims her bleak gaze at me. "I'm sorry about everything that's happened."
For a moment, I just stand here like the robot she called me on the day I left for Paris. "Go to bed."
"Shouldn't we talk? I mean—"
"Go to bed, Emery. It's been a trying day."
I accompany her as far as the first floor, then veer off in the direction of my office, leaving my wife to mount the last two flights alone. Though I shuffle into my office, I halt halfway to my desk. Why am I in here? My wife is upset, and I've come to my sanctum to hide. She needs me. Even if I can't give her what she wants the most, I can comfort her tonight.
When I walk into our bedroom, it's empty. I check the attached bathroom, but she's not there either. Where is my wife?
A chill shivers over my skin as the truth becomes obvious. No, she wouldn't do that.
I jog down the hall and ease the door to the other bedroom open partway. A wedge of light spills inside the room from the hall.
And my wife is curled up on the bed, still wearing her clothes and her shoes, hugging her knees to her chest.
Pain stabs into my heart like a knife blade.
I walk to the bed. "What are you doing in here?"
"Trying to sleep."
"Why aren't you in our bedroom?"
She stares blankly down at the floor and hunches her shoulders.
I slip my arms under her body and lift her off the bed. "This is not where you sleep."
Then I carry her down the hall and into our room, where I throw the covers aside, not caring where they land. I remove her clothes and shoes before I lay her down on the bed, with a pillow cushioning her head, and drag the covers over her to shield her naked body. Once I've undressed, I crawl under the covers too, nestling her against me.
"Sleep," I murmur.
I don't know which of us falls asleep first, but I wake again later, experiencing a powerful need to hold her close and feel her against me for as long as I can. What Graham did, it happened because of me. I should've guarded the house better, protected her better, treated her like my wife instead of a tool to end my family's meddling. Was that why I married her?
Doesn't matter. All I've brought her is pain.
And I can't even fix the mess I've made, because it's not about Graham or Sebastian or anyone else. The problem is inside me.
In the wee hours, while I listen to Emery's soft, even breaths and gaze down at her face, I finally understand. But it's too late. The best thing I can do for Emery is to let her go. Maybe I haven't ruined her, but I have ruined myself, and I love her too much to drag her down with me.
The time has come to set her free.
