Monday morning.
Ava checked the mark in Victor’s bathroom mirror for the third time. Still there. Still faintly luminous against her skin. She buttoned her blouse and tried to remember how to breathe.
Victor was waiting in the foyer. Charcoal suit. Perfect composure. Like Saturday night hadn’t happened.
“Ready?”
They’d spent Sunday in careful avoidance. Breakfast at a café near his building where Ava had pushed eggs around her plate while Victor read the Financial Times like it contained the secrets of the universe. Neither of them had mentioned the night before. Neither of them had needed to. It sat between them like a third person at the table, taking up all the oxygen.
The walk through Central Park had been worse. They’d maintained a careful foot of distance, commenting on the weather, the trees, a dog that ran past them chasing a ball. Safe topics. Hollow words. When Victor’s hand had brushed hers reaching for the same park bench armrest, they’d both flinched like they’d been burned.
Dinner had been Italian, chosen because the restaurant was loud enough that silence didn’t feel oppressive. They’d discussed the menu in detail. The wine list. The architecture of the building across the street. Anything to avoid the obvious.
At one point, Victor had said, “About last night…”
“We don’t have to talk about it.”
“I think we should.”
“I think we really shouldn’t.”
He’d let it drop. They’d eaten tiramisu without tasting it and gone back to the penthouse, where Ava had retreated tothe guest room with a book she didn’t read and Victor had disappeared into his study. She’d heard him pacing until well past midnight.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
The town car waited at the curb. Ava slid in first, pressing herself against the far door. Victor took the opposite corner.
He made three phone calls during the ride. She stared out the window and pretended not to notice how his voice softened when he talked to other people. Warmer. Easier. Like conversation came naturally with anyone except her.
When he hung up the third time, she said, “Those could have been emails.”
“They could have.”
“But then we’d have to talk.”
He didn’t answer.
The car stopped. Victor came around to open her door, and his hand found the small of her back as they crossed the lobby. Security nodded them through without a second glance.
The elevator ride took sixty-one floors. Neither of them spoke.
When the doors opened onto the reception area, Derek looked up from his desk, saw them step out together, and nearly dropped his cappuccino.
“Oh.” His eyes went wide. “Oh, wow. Okay.”
“Morning, Derek.”
“Morning. Yes. Good morning.” He was still staring, gaze bouncing between them like he was watching a tennis match. “To both of you. Together.”
Victor’s hand stayed firmly on her back. “Is there a problem?”
“No. Nope. No problem at all.” Derek grabbed a stack of files and fled toward the copy room, coffee sloshing dangerously.
Behind them, the elevator chimed.
Lilith stepped out in crimson silk, gold glinting at her throat and wrists. Her gaze found Victor’s hand on Ava’s back and stayed there.
“Victor. And Ms. Feng.” She walked toward them, heels striking marble. “How domestic. Arriving together like newlyweds.”
