"I'm not expecting anything."
"But you want something."
I could have lied. Could have told her this was purely business, a strategic alliance with no personal entanglement. That's what she wanted to hear, probably. The safe answer. The easy one.
I'd spent my whole life giving people safe, easy answers. I was tired of it.
"Yes," I said. "I want something."
"What?"
"You." The word came out rougher than I intended. "I want you. Not as a transaction. Not as a strategic asset. I want to know who you really are—not Dr. Walsh, not Keira O'Shea, but the woman underneath all the masks. I want to be the person you stop running from."
She drew in a sharp breath. I saw the impact of my words land—the way her eyes widened slightly, the way her fingers tightened on the arm of the chair.
"That's a lot to ask," she said quietly.
"I know."
"I don't know if I can give you that."
"I know that too."
"Then why say it?"
"Because you asked. And because I'm done pretending." I leaned back in my chair, giving her space. "I'm not asking you to love me. I'm not asking for anything except the chance to prove that I'm worth trusting. Whatever happens beyond that—if anything happens—is your choice. Your pace. Your terms."
She was quiet for a long moment. The morning light was growing stronger now, gilding her hair, illuminating the exhaustion on her face, and the careful calculation behind her eyes.
"Forty-eight hours," she said finally.
"Is that a yes?"
"That's a yes to the marriage. To the protection. To trying this insane arrangement and seeing if we both survive it."
"And the rest?"
"The rest..." She shook her head. "I don't know. I can't promise you anything beyond the practicalities. I can't promise feelings I'm not sure I have or trust I haven't earned yet."
"That's fair."
"Is it enough?"
I thought about all the women I'd been with—the ones who'd thrown themselves at me, who'd wanted the money or the power or the thrill of danger. None of them had ever looked at me the way Keira was looking at me now. Like I was a puzzle. A risk. A choice she was making with her eyes wide open.
"Yes," I said. "It's enough."
She nodded once, a sharp gesture that sealed the deal more firmly than any contract.
"Then let's do this." She stood, pulling the robe tighter around herself. "Forty-eight hours. Whatever arrangements you need to make, make them. I'll be ready."
"Keira."
She stopped at the door, looking back at me.
"Thank you," I said. "For trusting me."
Something shifted in her expression. Not warmth, exactly. But not coldness either. Something in between.
