*
The cottage wasdark except for the faint glow of the fire when Rhys let himself back in.He closed the door softly behind him, careful not to wake anyone.
The silence felt different now—deeper somehow, after the wide, open night.He shrugged off his coat, set it on the peg by the door, and stood for a moment in the narrow entryway, listening to the house breathe.A floorboard creaked.He looked up.At the top of the stairs, half in shadow, Catriona stood wrapped in a blanket.
“You’re back,” she whispered.
He exhaled.“Did I wake you?”
She shook her head.“I couldn’t sleep either.I heard the door.”She paused.“You’ve been gone a while.”
He closed the distance, rested one hand on the banister.“I went for a walk.”
“It’s freezing out.”
“I needed the cold.It helps me think.”
She made a face.“Or stop thinking?”
A faint, tired smile tugged at his mouth.“Maybe both.”
For a moment, neither spoke.The only sound was the faint pop of the fire in the hearth and the rattle of wind against the windows.
“The wind is picking up,” she said, coming down the stairs slowly, the blanket still wrapped snuggly around her.“Weren’t you scared?”
“I’ve walked these roads my whole life.It felt good being in the woods and hearing the owls.There are a pair of them in the trees.I forgot how much I loved this place and nature.I don’t get this in London.”
“Do you ever think about having a place of your own in Derbyshire?A cozy country house where you and the girls could come on weekends?”
“It’s a nice idea but it wouldn’t work.I’d find it impossible to tear myself away from the city on a regular basis.”
“Too tied to work?”
“Too tied to routine.”He grimaced.“Lyndsey hated my attachment to work and structure.I’m not very good at being spontaneous.”
Her gaze searched his.“Do you miss her?”
His brows lifted, surprised.“Lyndsey?No.We haven’t lived together for years.We see each other regularly because of the kids, and while we’re amicable, we’re not close.In fact, I don’t know if we ever were.”
“But you loved her.You married her.”
“She was beautiful.Sophisticated.She moved in elevated circles, and I fell for everything she was, because it was everything I wasn’t.But infatuation doesn’t last.The fact that she was drawn to me turned my head.But it wasn’t a relationship meant for marriage and children.We both learned that too late.”
He looked at Cat—really looked at her—and something inside him gave way.The walls he’d lived behind, the ones that kept everything neatly contained, felt thinner tonight.
“It’s strange,” he said.“Standing out there, seeing the big house and the cottage I grew up in, I saw me as I was.With all my ambition.I’ve spent my whole life working.Trying to be someone who mattered.”
“You do matter.”
He gave a rough, unsteady laugh.“I thought success would feel different.That if I achieved enough, earned enough, it would—” He gestured vaguely, helplessly.“Fill something.But it doesn’t.It never has.”
“I remember reading somewhere that success isn’t one thing, but a culmination of many things.You can’t just define your life by your work, not when you have a beautiful family and children who need you.”
“It’s difficult to find balance.At least, I find it difficult.”
“Balancing anything is hard, but you do it well.Just look how hard you’ve worked these past few weeks.The hours you’ve poured into finishing the paper and then getting the book into shape for the publisher.During the holidays no less—”
“If I had been there, in London, I might have been able to save her.”
