“Good.”
My gaze returned to Kandi’s front door. Should I go in? Force a conversation?
“We’ll wait,” I said, pulling out my tablet to review some financial reports.
The minutes stretched into another hour, the silence in the car broken only by the occasional message alert and the hum of the engine keeping the climate control running.
“Sir?” Markos’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. “I believe they’re coming out.”
I straightened, watching as the front door opened. Dede emerged first, followed by Kandi. They embraced briefly before Dede turned toward our vehicle.
I made a quick decision and opened the door, stepping out to meet her halfway. Our eyes met across the short distance, and she stopped.
“Well, look who came to collect his woman personally,” Kandi said, crossing her arms. “Dee’s future husband himself.”
Dede narrowed her eyes at her friend.
“Good evening, Kandi,” I said, nodding politely. “Thank you for looking after Dede this evening.”
“Oh, you know me,” Kandi replied with a dismissive wave. “Always happy to provide food and perspective.”
“We need to go,” Dede cut in. “Thanks for everything, K.”
“Remember what I said,” Kandi called as she retreated to her front door.
I opened the SUV’s rear door for Dede, and she slid in without looking at me. I circled around and joined her in the back seat.
“Home, please, Markos,” I said.
The silence between Dede and me stretched taut as we drove through the quiet streets. In the dim interior of the vehicle, I admired the curve of her cheek and the soft swell of her belly where our children grew.
“I regret upsetting you,” I said finally. “It was not my intention.”
She turned to look at me. “But you’re not sorry about throwing away my belongings.”
“I saw those books,” I said, “and all I could think was you had written me out of picture. And you had decided our children did not need father.”
“I do want you in our children’s lives. I don’t want them to experience what Tia experienced, Aris. Those books were not about you.”
“Then what were they about?” I asked.
Dede was quiet for several minutes. “Wealthy, powerful men rarely uproot their entire lives for unplanned pregnancies withwomen they barely know. They send lawyers and monthly checks.”
“You, you are not woman I barely know.” The words came out sharp, roughened by the suggestion that what we had shared meant so little. “We may have only had two months, but I know you can swim, but refuse to because you do not want to ruin your hair. I know you are passionate about what you believe in, but you listen and compromise—like accepting your daughter’s marriage even when you think she and Chrysanthos are too young.”
She looked away, blinking rapidly.
I reached out, turning her face back to mine with my fingertips beneath her chin. “I know you sleep on your left side and you steal covers. I know you laugh at your own jokes before you tell them.” I moved closer. “I know little sound you make when you are falling asleep, and way you stretch like cat when you wake up.”
“Oh.” Just that one syllable.
“And I know,” I continued, “you are strongest woman I have ever met. Strong enough to raise an exceptional daughter, build successful business, and face unexpected twin pregnancy with grace.” I paused. “But strength does not mean you have to carry everything alone. It can also mean knowing when to let someone share the load.”
“I don’t know how to do it any other way,” she admitted quietly.
Her admission triggered my protectiveness. I had built my life around knowing exactly where each piece belonged. Dede, with her independence and fierce self-reliance, challenged that order, and yet I found myself wanting to create a new system around her, one that preserved her strength while offering my own as a complement.
I closed the distance between us. “May I?”
