Page 52 of Sealing the Deal

“This is the only offer on the table,” I say when I return a moment later. “One I’m under no obligation to give you. I’ve got plenty of evidence that you were being paid by my father. No court would grant you a penny.”

It’s true. But what I don’t tell Ana is that I could’ve filed for divorce at any point in the last five years. All I’d had to do was file, show the court I’d tried to locate her, publish a notice somewhere she’d never see it, and wait. But it felt wrong to go behind her back, even after what she did to me. Because she is the victim in this. She is the pawn my father manipulated to get to me.

Yes, I want a divorce, but I never wanted Ana to feel I was abandoning her. I wanted her to come to me when she needed help. Exactly like she is now.

I place the contract and the divorce papers on the coffee table. When I turn back, Flic is standing in the hallway. She’s changed out of the dress into jeans and a fitted, deep-blue sweater that brings out the color of her eyes. Her hair is pulled into one loose braid down her back. I’m surprised to see she’s barefoot, and there’s no sign of a bag on her arm.

I stride across the room, and I’m by her side in seconds. “You’re staying?” The words tumble out in a rush of surprise and maybe a little bit of desperation I’m not ashamed to admit.

She shoots me a look in that scathing Flic way. “It’s not OK that I didn’t know you were married, Grayson, but whatever this is”—she nods toward the couch and Ana—“it’s bigger than me. And it’s pretty clear you need help right now. We’ll deal with us later.”

A tiny part of me clings to the word “us.” Up until the moment in the elevator, I didn’t cross a line, but there were plenty of times we danced right up to it, letting my touch linger too long, holding her gaze. Plenty of moments where I opened up and still chose not to tell her about my past. I told myself it was because I didn’t want her to judge me or hate me. Now I wonder if I was just being a coward.

Flic disappears into the kitchen without another word. I hear cupboards opening and then the fridge. The clink of glass. She returns a moment later carrying a glass of water. She places it on the table beside Ana.

“Hi, I’m Flic. I’m a friend of Grayson’s.”

Ana squints up at her, then lets out another light laugh. “More than a friend.” She pushes herself upright and nearly slides straight off the couch. “I saw you kissing.”

Flic doesn’t rise to it. “We didn’t kiss,” she says evenly. “We’re just friends. I can assure you, Grayson has been the perfect husband.”

Ana laughs again, louder this time. Then she leans forward and stage-whispers like I’m not in the room. “We’re not really husband and wife.”

Flic nods once, then takes a step back. “Would you like something to eat, Ana? Maybe some pasta?”

“Oh babe, I’m starved. How did you know?” Ana beams at her. “Send Grayson out.” She pats the cushion beside her. “You sit with me. Let’s have a glass of wine and become best friends.”

Flic’s smile remains polite. “I’ll make it. It’ll be quicker.”

She turns back toward the kitchen without looking at me. Yeah, she’s mad, and I don’t blame her. But she hasn’t left. Instead, she’s standing in my kitchen, cooking dinner for my wife. Helping me hold together a situation that’s already cracked wide open.

TWENTY-THREE

GRAYSON

It takes the better part of an hour to coax Ana into eating more than a few bites of pasta and drinking enough water that I don’t worry she’ll be sick in the night. She’s docile now, glassy-eyed and slow, leaning heavily on my arm as we guide her down the hall to one of my spare rooms. By the time her head hits the pillow, she’s out cold. I leave the paperwork on the bedside table with another bottle of water in case she wakes in the night and decides to leave.

I stand there for a moment, staring at her collapsed into the white sheets, limbs tangled, red hair fanned across the pillow. There’s no anger left in me. Just a deep, aching sorrow. Ana is as much a casualty of Ashborne Holdings as any factory worker or family forced out of their home by my father’s deals. She didn’t stand a chance once he decided to use her.

I switch off the light and close the door softly behind me.

“Thank you,” I say quietly to Flic once we’re standing in the hallway. I notice she keeps a respectable distance from me, and I ache to reach out and touch her.

“Any time.” She turns away, already heading toward her room.

“Flic?” I call after her. “Can I explain?”

She pauses and turns, arms crossed, surveying me. “You don’t have to explain, Grayson. You don’t owe me anything.”

“The elevator—I⁠—”

She cuts in. “I knew there was a line you didn’t want to cross. I pushed you. That part is on me.” Her voice softens. “I didn’t understand why you’d put that line there until tonight. But it makes sense now. You’re married.”

A hollow laugh scrapes out of my chest. “On paper, yes. But in no other way. And it’s not the reason I’ve kept my distance, though that’s been getting harder by the day.”

The ghost of a smile touches her lips. “You don’t have to⁠—”

“I want to,” I say, stepping closer. “Please. Let me explain.”