I lifted my head, met his gaze. “I’m done being the wife who builds and signs nothing. I want my own name on the work. And I want you in it—because you see the architect, not the accessory.”
His fingers slid into my hair, tugging just enough to tilt my face. “Been waiting to hear you say that. About yourself, not for me.” He kissed me slow, tasting of salt and satisfaction. “We start tomorrow. Tonight you just rest on me.”
I settled back against him, city glow pressing warm against my closed lids, his arm solid around my waist.
Chapter Nineteen
HOLLAND
The light camethrough the warehouse windows in long pale sheets, the way it always did at this hour, and I watched it slide across the drafting table, across the scattered pencils, across the sleeve of Finn's shirt where his arm rested on a fresh sheet of vellum.
He hadn't noticed I was awake yet. His glasses sat low on his nose and his hair was a disaster, one dark wave falling across his forehead while the rest stuck up in the back from the couch cushions. He was sketching, the pencil moving in short, sure strokes. Every few seconds he’d stop and turn the page slightly, then continue. I realized I had never watched him work before. Not like this. Not in the quiet of a morning that belonged to no one but us.
I lay on the studio couch, blanket pulled to my shoulder, and waited for the familiar rush—Callum's schedule, project deadlines, Laura's next move. But the list didn't come. The silence in the room simply held, asking for nothing. The city woke up twelve floors below, and for the first time in seven years, my own mind was quiet with it.
This morning I had nothing to solve.
Finn looked up and caught me watching him. He didn't smile right away. "He set the pencil down, took off his glasses, and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb. Then he said, "You sleep at all?
"Some."
"Some is better than none."
"I'm not sure that's true."
He put his glasses back on and pushed them up. "You want coffee or you want to keep lying there pretending you're still asleep?"
"I wasn't pretending."
"You were doing a very convincing impression of a person who wasn't watching me draw."
I sat up, pulling the blanket with me. "How long have you been awake?"
"Hour. Maybe a little more." He stood and walked toward the small kitchenette at the far end of the studio, and I heard the coffee maker start. "The light was good. I didn't want to lose it."
I watched him pour two mugs and bring one back to me. The mug was heavy ceramic, dark blue, and when I wrapped both hands around it the warmth went straight into my palms and stayed there. He sat on the edge of the couch, not close enough to crowd me but close enough to be present.
"Sloane texted," he said. "About twenty minutes ago. She wants to know if you're coming to her place for dinner tonight or if you need another day."
"What did you tell her?"
"I didn't. I figured you'd want to answer that one yourself."
I took a sip of the coffee. It was strong, the way he always made it, and I thought about Sloane and her apartment and the guest bed I'd slept in for two weeks, and how she'd stood next to me at the gala with her hand on my elbow like she was ready to catch me if I fell. She'd been waiting for me to fall for years. She'd just never said it out loud.
"I'll go tonight," I said. "I owe her more than a text."
Finn nodded. He didn't say anything about how I should handle my sister or what I owed anyone. He just drank his coffee and let me decide.
That was the thing about him. He'd been doing it for ten years and I'd only just started noticing.
"The business attorneys called this morning," I said. "Yesterday, I mean. Before the gala. They left a message."
"What did they say?"
"That the operating agreement is clear. My name is on it as design principal. The capital contribution is documented. They said Callum can't remove me from the company without my consent, and he can't claim the intellectual property as his own." I paused. "They said I have leverage."
Finn set his mug down on the floor beside the couch. "Do you want to use it?"
