Page 93 of The Temporary Bride

It shouldn’t be such a remarkable thing, falling in love. But it is, simply because I never saw it coming. This marriage was supposed to be a business arrangement, a way to secure our futures and strengthen the company. Chloe… she’s become so much more than that.

I’m falling for my wife, and there’s not a damn thing I can do to stop the fall. Not that I want to.

I pull the Audi into my driveway, keying in the passcode at the front gate and rolling past the lawn. I park in front of the wide garage doors and sit in the car for a moment, letting that realization sink in.

It’s both terrifying and fucking amazing, the thought that my life is so fundamentally connected to someone else’s now.

I step out, the night air crisp around me, and head inside, anxious to see Chloe. Because now, more than ever, I want to show her just how much she means to me. As I stride into the house, I find her on the couch. She looks gorgeous and comfortable, her legs tucked beneath her and her hair loosely pulled back from her face.

My chest squeezes at the sight of her. Carefully setting down the black and gold statuette on the kitchen counter, I move into the living room. I stride over to the couch, not even bothering to take off my jacket, and sit down beside her. Without a word, I tug her onto my lap. Chloe yelps in surprise, her eyes widening for a moment, then melts against me as I bury my face in her hair.

The scent of her shampoo fills my senses as her warmth seeps into me, and I tighten my arms around her, running my nose up the line of her neck.

She shivers under my touch and then draws back, concern and curiosity mingling in her eyes. “How did it go? Telling your brothers, I mean.”

I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the evening’s revelations settle into a more manageable load. “It was okay. I’m glad they know now. It felt good to finally get it off my chest.”

Her fingers trace patterns on my arm as she nods. “How did they take it?”

“They were shocked, of course,” I admit, leaning back against the couch and pulling her closer. “But I think it brought us closer together. We’re all still processing it, but we made a pact to have each other’s backs from now on. No more secrets.”

“I’m proud of you,” she whispers softly, her words wrapping around my heart and making it swell.

Then she glances over at the kitchen counter and spots the black and gold statuette. Her eyebrows lift in surprise. “What’s that?”

I follow her gaze and feel a surge of satisfaction. “I got it for you.”

Her eyes widen, a touch of dusky rose painting her cheeks. “For me?”

“Yeah. I saw it at Gabriel’s place and knew you’d love it.”

She climbs off my lap and walks over to the statuette, her fingers gently tracing the intricate details. When she turns back to me, her eyes are shining. “It’s beautiful, Tristan. I love it. Thank you so much.”

I stand up and walk over to her. “I’m glad you like it,” I say, wrapping my arms around her from behind and resting my chin on her shoulder.

“I more than like it,” she breathes, leaning back into me. “It’s perfect.” We stand there for a moment before she turns in my arms and looks up at me, her eyes filled with affection. “You didn’t have to do this, but I’m really glad you did.”

“I wanted to.” I brush a strand of hair from her face. “You deserve nice things.” I pause for a moment, then ask curiously, “Why are your favorite colors black and gold?”

“Oh.” She’s quiet for a few seconds. “When I was younger, probably around thirteen, I found an injured warbler near our house. It was so beautiful, with its glossy black wings and gold head. But one of its wings was hurt. The feathers were all ruffled the wrong way, and it couldn’t fly. I couldn’t just leave it there, so I put it in a shoebox and kept it in the pool shed.”

Chloe’s voice softens with nostalgia as she recalls the memory, her eyes distant.

“I made a little nest for it, and brought it worms to eat. And after around a week, it flew off. It seemed so delicate, but it was strong. It healed so fast. That always stuck with me. I wanted to be like that bird.”

She clears her throat, turning to face me.

“When I started to lose my hearing, I thought about that bird a lot. It didn’t pity itself. It just kept surviving, bringing beauty into the world despite its fragility. I wanted to be like that.”

“You bring more beauty into the world than anyone I know,” I tell her.

She laughs softly, a slightly self-conscious sound. “Not according to Iris.”

I go very still. “What?”

“I still see her at Ashbury Athletic sometimes.” She says it lightly, waving a hand like it’s nothing. “The other day I overheard her talking shit about my clothes, my hair, and whatever else. Standard mean girl shit.” She shakes her head with a wry smile. “Honestly, maybe one of the upsides of eventually going deaf is not having to listen to bitchy women like that anymore.”

She laughs again, seeming to let it go, but as I stand there with my arms around her, anger settles in my chest, cold and hard.