“I think you withdraw because you are afraid of something.”
His expression flickered. She saw it.
“You are disciplined,” she went on. “You are controlled. You are careful. But I will not live beside you as though I am something to be tolerated.”
“You are not merely tolerated,” he said sharply.
“Then prove it.”
The challenge was quiet but unmistakable. He exhaled slowly, running a hand over his jaw.
“What would you have me do?” he asked.
“Join me,” she said simply.
He held her gaze.
“Walk beside me in this house,” she continued. “Dine with me and remain. Sit with me in the evenings without a ledger between us. Speak to me as your wife, not as your steward.”
He swallowed.
“I do not want grand gestures,” she added. “I want consistency.”
The room seemed to narrow to the space between them. When he spoke again, his voice was lower.
She waited. He looked down briefly, then back at her.
“I thought distance would preserve clarity,” he admitted.
“It has only created more distance.”
He absorbed that.
“I have been wrong,” he said quietly.
She studied him, searching for dismissal. There was none.
“I will join you,” he said then. “More often. Intentionally.”
Her shoulders stilled.
“I will walk beside you in this house,” he continued. “I will dine with you and remain. I will not treat you as a figurehead. You are right. You are my wife, and you deserve to be seen.”
The tightness in her chest eased, not entirely, but enough to breathe.
“I am not asking you to abandon your responsibilities,” she said.
“I know.”
“I am asking you to remember that I am one of them.”
His gaze softened at that.
“You are not a responsibility,” he said.
“Then act like it.”
A faint huff of breath escaped him, almost a laugh though quieter.
