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A smile touches my lips. “I just gave you an impassioned speech, and all I get is a maybe ?”

Her lips quirk, eyes dancing in a way that feels old and familiar. “It was a really good speech.”

“Thank you.”

Her face sobers. “It’s just…hard for me to feel that way about myself sometimes.”

It’s perhaps the most vulnerable thing she’s ever said to me.

For so long, I looked at her and only saw strength, resilience, unparalleled determination.

I knew she had soft spots, but they were for things like lost puppies and elderly people eating alone and me .

I spent so long loving her and never seeing that she had soft spots that were all hers.

I’m so fucking furious with myself for missing it, for not seeing such big pieces of her, places I should have been protecting, places where she was vulnerable and trying to carry things all on her own.

She’s not blameless, of course. She should have told me, showed me hers the way I’d shown her mine, and there’s a part of me that’s mad at her for that. But I should have seen it. I should have noticed the things she kept hidden, the reasons she didn’t let me in.

How scared she’s been for much too long.

I should have seen it, and I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive myself that I didn’t.

“I wish,” I start, voice shaky, “that you could see yourself the way I do.”

Her throat bobs as she swallows, and my eyes track the movement, noticing the way her pulse beats erratically beneath her skin. “Me too.”

An idea comes to me then, but I hold it back. A secret. A project, really.

“Anyway,” she says, straightening her shoulders, the unarmed look on her face morphing into one I recognize. “I better close up.”

I nod and follow her through the studio.

We begin a well-choreographed dance, one we’ve performed a thousand times in this very space.

First, we adjust the barre, returning it to the correct height before moving it against the wall.

Next, I head for the mats left out on the floor and begin stacking them in the corner while she heads down the halls, turning off the lights in the other rooms. Tonya’s office is empty, meaning she must have slipped out without either of us noticing.

We meet a few minutes later in the lobby, and as she adjusts the thermostat, I decide to broach the topic I’ve been meaning to since I got here.

“So, I was thinking…”

Elsie looks over her shoulder at me, one brow lifted.

“I was going to tell my family the news at dinner on Monday.”

“That you’re an ass man?” she asks, turning to face me.

My eyes slowly trail down her body, lingering on her chest. “We both know that isn’t true.” My voice is sandpaper, and when I finally look back up at her, I’m pleased to see a flush staining her cheeks.

“What news?” Her voice isn’t quite as controlled either, and it drags up memories of us in this very studio many years ago. Of hands and lips and stolen moments in a dark studio, where neither of our parents knew where we were.

I swallow thickly, the palms of my hands itching. It’s been too long since I’ve touched her, felt her. “What?” My mind is buzzing too much to focus on her question, filthy images playing on a loop in my mind.

She smiles then, and it doesn’t help the situation. I want to taste that smile. “What news, Beau?”

I shake my head to clear my thoughts, her question finally piercing my brain. The news . “Oh, that we’re having a girl. Cheyenne will be thrilled.”

An indecipherable look crosses over her features, and it makes something in my stomach squeeze. I move forward on instinct, needing to be closer to her, to know what she’s thinking.

She smooths her hands down her sweatpants-clad thighs, avoiding my eyes. “Right, of course.” Her gaze swings back up to mine, a smile I can see right through pulling at her lips. “I’m sure they’ll be happy. Unless they were hoping for a boy, I guess.”

I’m finally close enough to touch her, to see in the dim light the way her hands are trembling slightly.

“They’ll be happy, Elsie,” I say softly but firmly.

Her head tilts up to hold my gaze as I close the last of the distance between us. Her lips press together, her eyes not meeting mine. “Well, good.”

“But I was hoping we could tell them together.”

I see the way the words pelt her, the way she almost recoils from them.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she responds, voice barely audible, gaze still trained on the floor.

“Why?”

She doesn’t respond for a long moment, and I duck to meet her eyes.

When they connect with mine, she doesn’t look away.

I can see the gears moving in her head, the way she’s holding back what’s really on her mind, debating whether to say it.

I get that sickened feeling with myself again, wondering how many times she’s done this before and I missed it, thinking she was just choosing her words carefully. That she was thoughtful .

“Tell me,” I prod, unable to hold myself back. “Tell me, really, why you don’t want to see them.”

“They have to hate me,” she blurts, and I realize it’s the first time she’s ever done so. It takes me aback, the words and her tone feeling like whiplash.

I reach for her on instinct, my hand lifting to her neck, my thumb settling against the racing pulse in her throat. I feel her swallow against it, and I can’t help but drag the pad of my thumb over it.

Her eyes are wide, unblinking. There are so many emotions flitting behind her eyes, but most prevalent is regret.

And I want to erase it. Demolish it.

“They don’t hate you, Elsie. They could never.”

“The way I treated you…” she trails off, gaze dropping to the hollow of my throat and lingering.

“Doesn’t concern them.”

She shakes her head. “Doesn’t mean they don’t have feelings about it.”

“They might,” I concede. “But they don’t see me as some scorned husband, Els. They know there’s more to the story, more going on. Things we have to work through. Things they don’t need to know and aren’t trying to know.”

Her eyes lift to mine again, confused. “They haven’t asked questions?”

“No.”

“None?”

“Well, that’s a lie,” I say, and her expression falls. “My dad asked how you’re doing.”

She blinks, and I watch the words wash over her, settling into her bones. When she speaks again, her voice is shaky. “He did?”

I nod, my throat tight.

“Why?”

I shouldn’t be surprised by her question, but I am.

I’m surprised by how low her self-worth has fallen.

That she can’t believe that my family would care about how she’s doing after losing everything she held most dear in such a short amount of time.

That she could think they held the separation against her.

“Because they love you, Elsie.” It’s so simple, but I can tell it isn’t simple to her. That she doesn’t believe she deserves their love, that she’s shocked as hell that they haven’t rescinded it because she fell apart and hurt me in the process.

I watch the thoughts flit through her head again, watch her shut down without saying the darkest of them, but I don’t press her. She’s been so vulnerable tonight, so brave, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt such a potent mix of pride and love and tenderness at once.

“Will you go with me?” I ask finally, breaking the silence, my heart beating in my ears. “Let’s tell our family about our baby girl. Together.”

She lets out a shaky breath, and I feel her pulse quicken beneath my touch. Then she nods. “Okay, let’s do it together.”