The fact that I’m subconsciously spinning over this terrifies me.
But one thing at a time, I guess.
I close my eyes. “You’re right.”
Aiden exhales and steadies himself in front of me, running his fingers along my jaw. His woodsy scent wraps around me, settling my nerves.
“That was my idea,” he says. “The partnership. The year. The whole thing. So if your parents are coming, we can’t solve it by sending you away.”
My eyes snap to his.
“We can’t?”
“No,” he says, firm but kind. “We solve it together.”
I laugh once, breathless and incredulous. “You say that like it’s normal.”
“You’re my wife,” he says simply. “What else really matters? Phoebe’s here. This is your home right now, Chloe. The solution isn’t to shove you out of here like we’ve made a mistake. We have nothing to hide.”
Of course, he would frame it that way.
Like I’m running away to avoid telling them about us, when really, I don’t want to defend myself. My parents’ reaction will depend entirely on the events that led them back tome:the leak, the debt, and the hours I work.
And my mother will inevitably remind me that this wouldn’t have happened if I were back in Enchanted Hollow.
“We’re not a mistake,” I whisper, mostly to myself.
He shakes his head once. “No. And neither are you.”
My eyes lift to his.
“Chloe, I won’t let your parents weaponize our marriage to justify whatever beef they have with how you’re raising Phoebe. You don’t have to fight their expectations alone anymore.”
He can’t know what it means to hear those words—to have someone in my corner, defending me. Even if I’m juggling so many balls that I dropped a pretty important one.
“They might not,” I say. “They might play nice in front of you and save it all for a phone call or text thread later.”
A grim smile forms as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Well, however they play their hand, just remember I’m your partner. We face it together.”
More music to my ears. He’s really got to stop raising the bar, day after day.
“So what do we do?”
“We tell them we got married.” Aiden gives a tiny lift of his shoulder, like it’s a simple fact.
My stomach flips. “Just like that?”
“Just like that,” he says. “We don’t invent a whole fake story. We’ll just tell them the truth, without oversharing.”
I blink at him. “Without oversharing.”
“Yes,” he says. “Without telling them the parts that we’re still healing. We can tell them the same things we’ve told Phoebe: We met again. We made a decision. We’re taking it one day at a time.”
My pulse skitters.
“And if they askwhy?” I whisper.
