“Why this? Why not.” I gesture at nothing. Diamonds. A yacht. Whatever rich men give their wives.
“Because I know you.” Simple. Certain. “I know you’d go crazy sitting around this house with nothing to do. I know you need to work, to contribute, to matter. And I know you’re brilliant at it.”
He cups my face in both hands.
“I’m not giving you something to fill your time. I’m giving you something to fill your life.”
The sound that tears out of me isn’t something I choose. It rips loose from below my ribs, raw and graceless, and I press my face into his chest because my legs have stopped being reliable. My hands fist his shirt. He holds me. Solid and patient. His chin rests on the top of my head, and I shake against him until the worst of it passes.
I count my breaths. Four in. Hold. Four out. The numbers steady me the way they always have.
When I can breathe again, I pull back. Wipe my eyes with the heel of my hand. Look at the papers spread across the desk.
“I’ll need access to all the financial records. Going back at least five years.”
His lips twitch. “Naturally.”
“And I want to meet with your accountants. The family ones, too. I’m not separating the foundation from the rest of the business operations until I understand how it all connects.”
“Done.”
“And I need a real office. Not this one.” I look around at the bare shelves, the white walls. “Something at the compound. Where I can work properly.”
“Already arranged. Gia helped pick out the furniture.”
I stare at him. “You planned this.”
“Weeks ago.” He pulls me closer. “I wanted to wait until after you’d settled in. Until you knew this wasn’t just me trying to keep you busy.”
“It’s not?”
“Cassia.” His voice drops. “You’re the most capable person I’ve ever met. You walked into my house as a condolence bride and became essential within a month. Not because I needed a wife. Because you are extraordinary,bella.”
His forehead presses to mine. “I would be an idiot not to use that. And I would be a terrible husband not to give you a way to use it yourself.”
I kiss him.
It’s not gentle. I pour everything into it, and his hands grip my hips, pulling me flush against him, and my fingers dig into his collar and hold on like he might disappear.
He won’t. I know that now.
When we pull apart, we’re both breathing hard.
“I love you,” I say.
“I know.” He presses his lips to my forehead. “I love you too.”
We stand in the quiet office, surrounded by plans and projections. Outside, New Orleans hums its nighttime song. Inside, everything is still.
“We should go,” he says. “It’s late.”
“In a minute.”
I look around the room again. The blank nameplate. The waiting shelves. The window overlooking a parking lot that will be full tomorrow with people who need help.
Four centers. Six thousand patients a year. Two more on the way.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
