"What kind of a man does that make you?"
We step inside. He considers my question, then tilts his head with the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Do you have an idea?"
Here we are, psychoanalyzing each other again. His eyes search my face like he's reading a classified file, while I study the way his jaw shifts when he's thinking.
"That isn't fair, turning the question around." The elevator starts its descent, and I find myself studying the way the soft lighting catches the gray in his eyes. "But okay, I'll entertain you."
I trace the strong line of his jaw with my gaze, noting the slight stubble that's appeared since last night.
"You're introverted. People probably mistake that for being grumpy, though maybe you are a little grumpy too." A smile tugs at my lips. "I've seen you really smile maybe three times. Once at the wedding last night."
The elevator reaches the garage with a soft ding. Anton steps out, still carrying me.
"You're right. I am an introvert." His voice holds a warmth I'm starting to recognize is just for me. "Didn't use to be this grumpy though. I used to be actually fun."
"Fun?" I can't hide my surprise, and it makes him chuckle, the sound rumbling through his chest where I'm pressed against him. "I would love to see that. What kind of fun guy were you?"
He places me in the Camaro with worship-gentle hands. Then he's leaning over me, all heat and masculine scent, and God help me, I want to pull him closer instead of pushing him away.
His gentleness is my downfall, making me forget he's the same hands that let me go.
"I was the kind of fun guy who planned elaborate surprise dates. Who left love notes to be found. Who could make a woman laugh until their sides hurt."
He pulls back to meet my eyes, and I see a glimpse of the man he used to be.
"The kind who believed in happily-ever-after and thought love could conquer anything." His voice drops lower, rougher. "I still believe it, but I also learned that it could be taken away at any moment. Without warning. Without mercy."
Anton closes my door and rounds the car to the driver's side. We exit the garage to a darkening Manhattan skyline beyond. As we pull out into the street, the city lights blur past my window like fallen stars.
The silence stretches between us, filled only by the purr of the engine and the distant sounds of evening traffic.
"Is this what you were going to tell me about?" I ask. "What happened?"
His knuckles tighten on the wheel. "Yes. I want you to know all of me, Fee. Life has surprised me in ways I never expected, some devastating, some..." His eyes flick to mine briefly. "Some completely unexpected in the best way."
We merge onto the highway heading north, leaving the glittering chaos of Manhattan behind. The landscape begins to shift from concrete and glass to rolling hills dotted with distant lights, like the world is giving us space for this conversation.
"I'm ready to hear it," I tell him, meaning every word.
Anton's chest rises and falls with a deep breath. "I was truly and completely in love. Married for four years. I thought I'd found my mate for life."
The headlights illuminate the darkening road ahead, and I notice how his voice changes when he talks about her, softer, reverent.
"But two and a half years ago, she passed away. I was home that night. We were getting ready to go out to dinner. I had the night off. She was in the bedroom, putting on earrings, and she just...fainted."
My chest tightens as I watch the pain flash across his features.
"I rushed her to the hospital. She died an hour after we arrived." His voice drops to barely above a whisper. "Brain aneurysm. A malformation she'd been born with, something no one knew about. One moment she was laughing at something I'd said, the next..."
"Anton." My hand finds his shoulder, feeling the tension coiled there like a spring. "I'm so sorry for your loss. I can't imagine the pain, the loneliness."
The trees along the highway create dark silhouettes against the star-scattered sky, and somehow the open road makes this conversation feel both intimate and infinite.
"It almost killed me, too," he admits. "Then you showed up and confused the hell out of me. You attracted me in a way that surprised me completely. I tried to fight it, tried to ignore it, but it was futile."
His free hand covers mine on his shoulder, warm and solid.
"So I took these six months to get myself together. Because a man needs to get all of himself together if he wants to pursue a woman properly. That's the type of man I am. Money isn't a problem, but my head, my heart, my attitude—all those things I had to take care of."
