Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 28033 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28033 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
“Better,” he lied.
The smile she gave him was small and uncertain, and it made his chest ache in ways he didn’t want to examine too closely.
By day five, the coffee was merely mediocre, and Leonidas had never been more absurdly proud of a cup of mediocre coffee in his life.
But if watching her domestic struggles made him want to wrap her in cotton wool and never let her lift a finger again, his own shortcomings were far more devastating to discover.
“Mrs. Patterson,” Lexy said on day four, frowning at her phone. “Your driver’s wife. She just had surgery.”
Leonidas looked up from his laptop. “What?”
“Gallbladder. She’s been in the hospital since Tuesday.” Lexy was already typing. “I’m sending flowers from both of us.”
“I didn’t know Patterson was married.”
His wife’s fingers stilled on the screen, and when she looked at him, there was something sad in her expression. Not judgmental. Just...sad.
“Leon, he’s worked for you for eleven years.”
“I knew that.”
“His daughter just got accepted to Columbia. He cried in the car when the letter came. You were on a call and didn’t notice.”
Leonidas said nothing.
“And Maria—your housekeeper in Athens—her mother is sick. She’s been flying back to the Philippines every other month. You approved the time off, but do you know why she needed it?”
He didn’t.
“What about birthdays?” Lexy continued, her voice gentle rather than accusing. “Do you know when Mrs. Sanchez’s birthday is?”
“That’s what assistants are for.”
“I’m not your assistant, Leon.” She looked down at her phone again, her dark hair falling forward to hide her expression. “I’ve been sending cards on your behalf for eight years. I just...thought you should know.”
The words weren’t meant to wound him.
That was somehow worse.
Because she wasn’t angry. She wasn’t trying to make him feel guilty. She was simply telling him the truth—that she was one of the many people in his life he had overlooked.
****
The mediation questions arrived on day six.
A sealed envelope slipped under their door each morning, containing cards printed with prompts they were required to discuss over dinner. Adriano had explained it was part of the process. Structured communication. Guided intimacy.
Leonidas thought it was torture dressed up in therapeutic language.
But Lexy approached each question with the same earnest determination she brought to her failed cooking attempts, and he found himself unable to do anything less than match her effort.
Day Six: What does your partner do that makes you feel cared for?
He’d had answers. Specific ones. The way she always seemed to know when he’d had a difficult call and would appear with tea he hadn’t asked for. The way she remembered every preference he’d ever mentioned in passing. The way she still looked at him with those soft, serious eyes even after everything he’d put her through.
But when he’d asked her the same question, she’d gone quiet for a long moment before answering.
“You...handle things,” she said finally. “Logistics. I never have to worry about logistics.”
Logistics.
Eight years of marriage, and she felt cared for because he managed her calendar.
“Is that all?” he heard himself ask.
Lexy’s gaze dropped to her plate. “You make sure I eat. You charge my phone when I forget. You...you always make sure I’m safe.”
It should have made him feel better.
It didn’t.
Because he was starting to realize that all the ways he’d cared for her were practical. Logistical. The kind of care you’d give a valued employee or a distant relative.
Not a wife.
Never the way you’d care for a wife you actually loved.
Day Seven: What do you wish your partner understood about you?
Neither of them answered that one.
They’d sat in silence until the pasta grew cold, and then Lexy had excused herself to do the dishes with a small, apologetic smile that made Leonidas want to put his fist through a wall.
Not at her.
At himself.
Day Eight: Describe your relationship history before marriage.
The card sat between them on the dinner table like an unexploded grenade.
Lexy had cooked again—something involving chicken that was actually almost good this time—and they’d made it through most of the meal with careful small talk. The weather. A book she was reading. An investment opportunity he was considering.
Safe topics.
Nothing that made her pulse race or her palms sweat or her heart ache with wanting things she couldn’t have.
But now the card was staring at them, and Lexy could feel heat rising to her cheeks before anyone had even spoken.
“You first,” she said.
“Ladies first.”
“You’re older.”
“That is not how this works.”
She picked up her wine glass. Set it down. Picked it up again. Took a long sip for courage.
“Fine.” Oh goodness, this was mortifying. “I had...there were a few. Before.”
Leonidas went very still across the table. “A few what?”
“You know.” She waved her hand vaguely, not meeting his eyes. “Experiences.”
“Experiences,” Leonidas echoed. He didn’t like how she was saying it. Like she had something to hide.
“Nothing serious. Just...” Why had she started this? Why hadn’t she just said she didn’t want to answer? “The usual.”