Chapter 4 The Distance Between Beds

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Chapter 4: The Distance Between Beds

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Ethan came back with the scent of airport lounges and obligation. Not perfume. Not guilt. Just... distance.

His voice was polite when he kissed my cheek, his hands cold when they lingered at my waist. I stood still, letting him touch me like I was a glass door he was about to walk through-not a woman he once claimed to love.

"Everything alright here?" he asked as we climbed the grand staircase together.

"Yes," I replied.

Lie number one.

We passed the hallway that led to Christopher's study. The door was closed. But I could feel his presence-like static crawling beneath my skin.

Ethan didn't look at it. Didn't look at me either.

"I'll be in the guest room tonight," he said casually.

"The guest room?"

"I'm jetlagged. Early meeting tomorrow."

He didn't see the way my expression faltered. Or maybe he did, and he just didn't care.

The bed in our room was cold. Untouched. Just like the last three nights.

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I dreamt of water again.

Dark waves pulling me under. Hands dragging me toward the surface, but every time I reached up, they let go. A voice whispered my name, low and rough-

Ivana.

I woke up gasping.

Sweat clung to my skin. My nightgown stuck to the small of my back. The house was silent. Too silent.

I pushed off the sheets and tiptoed down the hall. Not toward Ethan. Toward the greenhouse.

But I stopped halfway. The library door was open.

The fireplace glowed.

And Christopher was there.

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He sat in a leather chair, shirt unbuttoned at the top, sleeves rolled, a glass of whiskey in hand. One leg crossed over the other like he'd been waiting for me.

"You're up," he said.

"You're always awake."

"I don't sleep well."

Neither do I.

He didn't invite me in, but I stepped closer anyway. The scent of cedarwood and liquor lured me, dangerous and soothing all at once.

"Why don't you sleep?" I asked.

"I told you. Ghosts."

He motioned to the chair across from him. I sat.

Silence settled between us, warm and dense. His eyes were dark under the firelight-deep enough to drown in.

"He sleeps in the guest room," I murmured.

Christopher didn't flinch.

"I know."

Of course he did. He probably heard the door close. Or maybe he just knew his son.

"I thought marriage would be different," I admitted.

His voice was soft. "You're too vibrant for him."

"I thought love was enough."

He looked at me then, really looked. "Love can't survive on silence. Or duty. Or cold beds."

My breath caught.

He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, hands clasped. "You're aching. I see it."

"And you think you can fix that?"

"No." His voice was velvet and steel. "But I can make you feel something again."

My heart pounded so loud it drowned the fire.

He stood and crossed the small distance between us. Stopped just in front of me. His hand moved, slow and deliberate, to touch my hair. Just a strand. Just enough to make my skin burn.

"I'm not a good man, Ivana."

"I know."

"And I'm not going to stop wanting you."

My throat went dry. "Then don't."

His fingers brushed my jaw, slid to the back of my neck, held me in a moment that screamed of wrongness and want. But he didn't kiss me.

Not yet.

"I'll wait," he whispered. "But not forever."

Then he walked away, leaving me trembling with a thousand unsaid yeses.

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I returned to my bed, body warm, mind spinning.

Ethan still wasn't there.

But I no longer needed him to be.

Because someone else had already crawled under my skin.

And he wasn't going anywhere.

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