Page 32 of Sleeping with the Enemy

Miller’s jaw tightened. “You know why.”

“I’m not certain I do.”

“Yes, you are.”

They stared at each other from across the table. The beige walls pressed in around them. The clock ticked off the seconds.

“This is a bad idea,” Astoria whispered.

“I know.”

“Whatever you think you—” Astoria stopped and recalibrated. “Whatever happened Thursday, it doesn’t mean anything. Itcan’tmean anything.”

Miller’s expression faltered. “Is that what you’ve been telling yourself?”

“It’s the truth.”

“It’s not.”

Astoria stood, but wasn’t sure why—restlessness, the need to move, the conference table suddenly feeling like an insufficient barrier. She walked to the window, looking out at the parking lot four stories below. A woman was walking toward the building, carrying a coffee cup, and a red car was pulling into a space across the lot. Normal Monday afternoon things.

She heard Miller’s chair push back, then footsteps approaching. The particular quality of silence that meant someone was standing too close filled the room.

“You should go back to your seat,” Astoria said without turning.

“Probably.”

Astoria could feel Miller's presence like a physical weight. When had this started? Not at the mediation, when Miller had been just another obstacle. Not even at the preliminary hearing,when Miller's integrity had cracked something open in Astoria's chest. But somewhere between then and now, the pull had become harder to ignore.

She turned.

Miller was closer than she’d expected—two feet away, maybe less. Her eyes were dark in the fluorescent light, and she was looking at Astoria with an expression that softened her heart.

“This is a terrible idea,” Astoria said again, but her voice had gone rough at the edges.

“You mentioned that.”

“I mean it.”

“I know you do.”

Neither of them moved or stepped back. Astoria was aware of everything: Miller’s slightly uneven breathing, the faint scent of her shampoo, the way Miller’s hands hung at her sides, her fingers curled slightly as if she was stopping herself from reaching out.

Astoria wasn’t sure who moved first. Maybe neither of them did. Maybe they just…drifted, caught in the same gravitation pull until the distance between them was inches instead of feet.

Miller’s breath caught, and Astoria saw her lips part, saw her eyes drop to Astoria’s mouth, saw the moment she swayed forward…

The door opened.

“Sorry about that,” Rachel said, already halfway into the room, her phone still in her hand. “The client’s situation was more urgent than?—”

Astoria was back at her seat before Rachel finished the sentence, even though she didn’t remember moving. Her documents were in front of her, and her expression was composed, but her heart was slamming against her ribs with a violence that made it hard to breathe.

Across the table, Miller had somehow returned to her own chair. She was staring at her legal pad like it contained the secrets of the universe, her pen gripped too tightly. Her face was flushed, two spots of color high on her cheeks.

Rachel glanced between them. Something crossed her face—suspicion, maybe, or just curiosity—but she didn't comment.

Gerald returned a moment later, and the meeting resumed. Astoria contributed when necessary, nodded when expected, and definitely didnotlook at Miller.