Yet something holds me back. It's an uncharacteristic hesitation that has nothing to do with business strategy.
Our emails are real in a way this marriage isn’t.
If I reveal the truth now, will she see it as another manipulation?
Or worse—will she stop writing altogether, eliminating the one authentic connection between us?
For the first time in years, I have no plan.
***
The ride home passes in silence, though not the uncomfortable tension of our earlier days together.
Rosanna sketches in the small book she always carries, occasionally looking up to observe the city passing outside the window. I review emails on my phone, responding to urgent matters while my mind continues processing the evening's revelation.
In the penthouse, we move through our evening routines. Rosanna makes tea in the kitchen while I review documents at my desk.
I find myself watching her more closely, cataloging nuances in her expressions. Like the particular way she tilts her head when considering a complex idea, the slight furrow between her brows when she's concentrating, the expansive gestures when she's enthusiastic about a topic.
Later, I sit in my study with my laptop open, staring at the email notification that arrived while we were still at the library.
Rosanna has responded to my message, continuing our correspondence as if nothing has changed because for her, nothing has.
But for me, everything has.
"Your timing is perfect, as always,"she writes."I've been thinking about perspective lately—how the same situation can look entirely different depending on where you're standing."
The irony of her statement isn't lost on me.
I need to know that she wants me, not just my resources or influence.
This marriage began as a transaction.
But for me, it's no longer possible to look at it that way.
And before she knows I’m Shay, I need to know how she feels about Seamus.
Chapter sixteen
Rosanna
Istand in front of the full-length mirror in my bedroom and smooth down the front of my dress.
The ERS stylist chose a deep burgundy sheath dress that is elegant without being flashy. It's paired with simple gold jewelry and heels that make me wince in anticipation.
This afternoon's museum exhibition opening is our most high-profile appearance yet, one that will put us in the same room as two other ERS couples.
I hear Seamus moving around in his room, the familiar sounds of his routine providing a strange sort of comfort in their predictability.
This morning, he left a book on traditional Japanese printmaking techniques beside my coffee cup—no note, no explanation, just a thoughtful gesture that showed he's been paying attention to my interests.
I've found myself doing similar things: ordering his preferred tea when I noticed he was running low, leaving a newspaper article about sustainable architecture where he would see it.
Seamus knocks on my door, right on schedule. When I open it, he stands there in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit that makes him look like he belongs in a luxury watch advertisement.
For a brief moment, I forget our arrangement and simply appreciate my husband.
"You look..." he begins, then pauses, his usual verbal precision failing him.
