Gideon studies me. “So can you?”
No.
Absolutely fucking not.
I’ve already violated the contract once.
I’m lying to Ethan.
I’m using breathing techniques she taught my five year old just to get through board meetings without losing my shit.
“I’m trying,” I say instead.
Gideon leans forward. His voice is still even but there’s something sharp underneath. “Let me ask you something. When your wife was alive, did you love her?”
“Yes. Of course I did.”
He narrows his eyes. “Did you want the other woman more?”
“No. I wanted Isotta. I choseIsotta.” I drag a hand over my face. “But there was always this voice in the back of my head asking what if. And when Isotta died, that voice got louder.”
He nods slowly. “Grief is complicated.”
“It’s not grief.” The words come out harsh. Angry. “It’s guilt. Because when she died, some fucked up part of me was relieved that I could finally stop pretending I didn’t want someone else. And that makes me the worst kind of bastard.”
The confession hangs between us like smoke.
Gideon doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t judge. Just processes.
“You think wanting this woman now means you didn’t love your wife.”
“I think it means I’m disloyal. That I’m sullying Isotta’s memory by even considering it.”
“Or,” Gideon says slowly, “it means you’re human. People don’t stop being attracted to others just because they’re married. What matters is what you do with that attraction.”
“I ran five years ago.”
“And now?”
Now I’m fucking my daughter’s nanny in a carriage house while her brother, my best friend, thinks I’m keeping it professional.
“Now I don’t know what I’m doing,” I admit.
Gideon sits back. Considers. “So do you love her, then? The nanny.”
“I don’t know. Maybe. It’s complicated.”
“Is she good for your daughter?”
“The best thing that’s happened to us in two years.”
“Then stop confusing your guilt with your daughter’s needs.” His tone sharpens. “If you pull away from this woman because you think it dishonors yourlate wife, you’re not protecting anyone. You’re just punishing yourself. And your daughter will pay the price.”
The words land like a cleaver through bone.
“Your words are great and all, but they’re just words,” I say quietly. “What if I hurt her? The nanny. What if I can’t give her what she deserves because I’m too fucked up from losing Isotta?”
“Then you figure it out. Together. Or you don’t. But you can’t keep living in this limbo where you want her but won’t let yourself have her because of some misguided loyalty to a ghost.”
