Page 105 of A Forbidden Arrangement

I keep staring at the empty doorway, the number bouncing around my skull. Five hundred million. I can’t even picture that. My stomach drops and then flips. I kick Xander’s hip with my foot.

“You’re going.”

He blinks up at me. “No.”

“Yes.” I plant my heels against his thigh and push until he slants enough that I can get up. I stand in front of him with the throw clutched to my chest and point toward the door. “Go make your half a billion dollars.”

He leans back, amused. “You giving me orders in my own house?”

“Common sense,” I shoot back. “I’m not going to be the reason you miss out on this deal.”

His mouth tightens, the humor fading from his eyes. “You will never be the reason I lose something. Not money. Not anything.”

“That’s sweet,” I say and step closer so he has to look up at me. “But it’s not how this works. You can love me and still go to work. You can love me and still show up for the deals you built. I’m not a crisis you have to manage. I am a person who is going to be here when you get back. So go.”

“I don’t like leaving you.”

His mouth softens into what suspiciously looks like a pout.

“I’m surrounded by plants and books. I’ll survive.”

He studies me for a moment, then stands and fixes the blanket around my shoulders. “Text me if you need anything.”

“I’ll text you every plant in this room if you don’t leave in two minutes.”

His mouth curves in spite of himself. “Threats now?”

“Motivation.” I reach past him and grab the empty coffee cup. “Go make five hundred million dollars. Bring me back another croissant.”

“I’ll bring you the bakery.” He says it like another fact, then sobers. His hands frame my face for one long breath. “I love you.”

I feel it again, low and steady, like a new center of gravity. “I love you too. Now, go.”

He kisses me once more, soft and careful, then steps back.

“Eat,” he says.

“Work,” I say back.

He laughs under his breath and disappears down the hall.

The house settles into quiet. I put the chess pieces back, water the rosemary, and tell the plant he’ll be home soon. I believe it.

The air smellslike dirt and basil and something sharp and green. Rows of herbs stretch in front of me, leaves glinting under the greenhouse lights. I trail my fingers over a tray of mint, trying not to smile too widely. Marco’s watching me from the end of the row with his hands in his pockets, pretending to browse, but his head’s on a swivel like always.

“You know,” he says, picking up a pot and turning it around, “you look suspiciously happy for someone who made me swear to keep this low-profile.”

I glance over my shoulder. “Low-profile is relative. You’re the size of a refrigerator, and the other three keep pretending to check price tags on succulents that cost more than my rent used to be. I’d say we’re doing great.”

He laughs. “Still, haven’t seen you smile like that.”

I can’t help it. “It’s nice to be outside. Doing something normal. It’s been a while.”

He nods and lets me wander. I stop at a rack of terra cotta pots and pick one up, feeling the warm roughness against my palms. For the first time in a long time, I feel almost ordinary.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I already know who it is before I look.

Xander: