Page 79 of His Surrender

It struck me then that she’d stopped walking into my office weeks ago.

She used to wander in, carrying Liana on her hip, asking if I wanted to hold her while she warmed a bottle.

Sometimes, she’d tell me something funny Liana had done. Sometimes, she’d ask how my day had gone.

Now … she waited for permission just to stand in the doorway.

“Do you have a minute?”

I nodded. “Of course.”

She smiled politely. “My friend Sydney was thinking about coming to visit this weekend.”

I set my pen down. “Okay.”

“I wanted to make sure you were all right with her staying here.”

As if she needed my permission to have a friend. The realization bothered me more than it should have.

“This is your home too, Aubrey.” The words slipped out before I thought about them.

For just a second, something softened in her expression, but it disappeared quickly.

“It still felt respectful to ask.”

I nodded. “She’s welcome anytime.”

“Thank you.”

That was it. There was no lingering conversation or asking how work had been. No teasing me for still sitting behind my desk at seven o’clock.

She turned around and quietly walked away. I watched her disappear down the hallway before realizing I’d spent the entire interaction hoping she’d stay another minute.

Then I went back to answering emails in an office that suddenly felt much too large.

I close my eyes now, leaning my head back against the leather seat. The memory leaves a hollow feeling somewhere beneath my ribs.

I wanted distance. Didn’t I?

That’s what I convinced myself of.

Protect her, Liana, and whatever fragile balance existed inside the penthouse. But somewhere along the way, I stopped protecting anyone. I simply made our home uncomfortable.

I let out a slow breath, watching the city blur past outside the window. I don’t know how to fix this.

Every time I tell myself I’ll talk to Aubrey … I remember Friday night.

Standing inches away from her. So close that I could still remember the warmth of her breath against my face.

Another thirty seconds, one uninterrupted moment, and I would’ve kissed her.

The thought still sends a wave of guilt crashing over me.

Not because I didn’t want to kiss her, but because I wanted to more than I’d wanted anything in a very long time.

That was the problem.

If I’d crossed that line, there would’ve been no pretending we could ever go back.