He took it, acutely aware of how her fingers brushed his palm. Even that small touch sent electricity racing up his arm.
Focus on the dog.
"Chance." He held out the chicken. "Come."
The puppy looked at him, looked at the chicken, then looked back at Isobel as if seeking permission.
"Traitor," Andrew said, but there was no heat in it.
Isobel laughed again, a sound he was becoming dangerously addicted to. "He's loyal to the person who's been consistently kind to him. You could learn something from that."
"I'm kind to him."
"You're demanding of him. There's a difference." She moved closer, standing beside Andrew so they both faced the puppy. "Try again, but softer this time. Like you're asking a favor rather than issuing an order."
Andrew swallowed hard, trying to ignore her proximity, the light floral scent of her perfume, the way the afternoon sun caught gold in her hair.
"Chance," he said, his voice gentler. "Come here, boy. Please."
This time, the puppy trotted over without hesitation. Andrew gave him the chicken, and Chance's tail wagged so hard his entire back end wiggled.
"There," Isobel said softly. "See what happens when you ask instead of demand?"
She wasn't talking about the dog anymore. Andrew knew that with bone-deep certainty.
He turned to look at her, finding her already watching him with those knowing amber eyes.
"Is that what you need from me?" he asked quietly. "To be asked instead of commanded?"
"I need to be seen as a partner, not a subordinate." Her gaze didn't waver. "I need to know that I'm not just another possession to be managed and controlled."
"You're not," He stopped and took a breath. "You've never been that to me. A possession."
"Haven't I?" There was no accusation in her voice, just honest curiosity. "When you defended me against Dalton, you said I was yours. That he went after what belonged to you."
Andrew's jaw tightened. "That's different. That was about?—"
"Protection. I know." She reached out, her fingers brushing his arm. "And I understood that. I even appreciated it. But sometimes, Andrew, I wonder where I truly stand in your priorities."
The words struck him powerfully. It had been a long time since his wife mentioned his list of priorities. He thought that he’dshown her dozens of times how much she meant to him, but still, she wondered.
"What do you mean?"
She looked away, focusing on Chance as the puppy investigated a butterfly. "The Mayfair Fox. It's still the most important thing to you, isn't it? More important than... than this." She gestured between them. "Than us."
"No." The word came out too forcefully, and he gentled his tone. "No, Isobel. You're—" He struggled to find the right words, the ones that would convey what he felt without making himself too vulnerable. "You're important to me. Very important."
"But not more important than the club."
It wasn't a question, and he couldn't bring himself to lie.
"The Mayfair Fox is..." He raked a hand through his hair. "It's everything I've built from nothing.”
"You're a man who's kind to puppies when he lets his guard down." She smiled sadly. "You're so much more than that club, Andrew. I wish you could see that."
"And I wish you could understand what it means to build something from ruins." His voice roughened. "To take the very thing that destroyed your family and turn it into your salvation. The Mayfair Fox isn't just a business."
"I do understand that." Her hand moved to his face, cupping his cheek with such tenderness it made his chest ache. "But what happens when you have to choose? When the club and your marriage can't both be priorities?"
