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I look down at her where she’s stretched across the sofa with her head against my thigh, one bare foot tucked beneath the other leg. Some documentary she chose is playing quietly across the room, the dishes from dinner are still stacked beside the sink, and I’ve answered exactly three emails in the last twenty minutes while pretending I’m paying attention to any of them.

“Was that necessary?” I ask.

“Yes,” Blaire says.

“You’ve been staring at the same email for five minutes.”

“I was thinking.”

“You were pretending to work.”

I set the laptop on the coffee table and run my hand through her hair. “Margaret and Amelia give you everything you needed on Friday?”

Blaire shifts onto her back so she can look up at me.

“Final comments came through yesterday morning. I sent the last revisions before lunch.”

“So that’s it?” I ask.

“That’s it,” she says. “Officially.”

I knew the answer before I asked. I’ve seen the final reporting schedule and the closing notes from the family office, but hearing her say it still lands differently.

“You did good work, Wilson,” I say.

“Thorough. Better than what we’ve gotten from people who’ve been doing this twice as long.”

Her smile comes slowly.

“That’s almost embarrassingly complimentary for you.”

“I can take it back.”

“You absolutely cannot.”

I smile and run my thumb along her temple.

The documentary keeps playing while neither of us pays much attention to it.

“When do they expect you back?” I ask.

Blaire’s expression changes slightly.

“Probably in a few weeks. I still have to pack everything up and turn over the apartment.”

The answer shouldn’t surprise me, but it does anyway.

“That soon?” I ask.

“My part of the project is officially finished,” she says.

“There’s nothing left to extend on paper, and not much of a reason for me to keep running up the tab for a London apartment that I’m not technically supposed to be using anymore.”

Her voice is casual, but she looks back at the television too quickly. I watch her for a moment. I don’t respond immediately. I simply nod slowly as the chunks in my throat begin to rise, hoping to distract from the loud sound of my heart beating out of my chest.

“And you’re ready to go?” I ask.

Blaire is quiet before answering.