Chapter 8 - The Man Who Never Asked
Grace confronted Declan that evening.
They stood on the terrace of his Manhattan penthouse while Lily slept inside.
“Were you in love with me?”
Declan did not pretend to misunderstand.
“Yes.”
Grace stared.
“For how long?”
“Long enough.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You were married.”
“That never stopped you from buying my shares.”
“That was business.”
“You flew to the island.”
“Also business.”
“You stayed at the hospital.”
“Friendship.”
Grace shook her head.
“Declan.”
He finally looked at her.
“I loved you before Ethan.”
Her breath caught.
“But you loved him.”
He said it without bitterness.
“When Michael died, you were twenty-four and furious at the world. Ethan was the first person who made you laugh again.”
Grace remembered.
Ethan at a terrible charity auction.
Ethan bidding fourteen thousand dollars on an ugly ceramic horse because Grace whispered that nobody wanted it.
Ethan carrying it into her apartment afterward and announcing:
“Meet our first child.”
She had laughed until she cried.
Declan continued.
“I could have told you how I felt. I didn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because love that requires someone else to lose their freedom isn’t love.”
Grace looked away.
Declan smiled gently.
“And before you ask, no. I’m not waiting for Ethan to fail again.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“Moving on.”
That surprised her.
“There’s someone?”
“Possibly.”
Grace smiled.
“Who?”
“My attorney.”
Grace laughed.
Declan grinned.
“She hates me.”
“That sounds promising.”
For the first time in months, Grace felt something unclench inside her.
Declan’s love was not another demand.
It was simply something true that had existed and changed.
The next morning, Grace went to Ethan’s apartment.
He opened the door wearing jeans and a gray T-shirt, Lily’s bottle in one hand.
Grace blinked.
“What are you doing with Lily?”
Ethan looked equally confused.
“You texted me to pick her up.”
“I did?”
He showed her the message.
Grace remembered sending it at four that morning after Lily refused to sleep.
“Oh.”
“You haven’t slept.”
“Neither has she.”
Ethan smiled.
“She has now.”
Grace entered.
His apartment surprised her.
Small.
At least compared with the places Ethan usually chose.
No staff.
No art consultant.
No marble foyer.
A bassinet stood beside the sofa.
“What happened to the penthouse?”
“Sold it.”
“Why?”
“Didn’t need it.”
She noticed financial documents on the table.
“What are those?”
Ethan hesitated.
“Employee pension settlements.”
Grace picked one up.
“You funded these?”
“Partially.”
“With what?”
“The yacht. Aspen. Some investments.”
“You never told me.”
“I wasn’t doing it for you.”
She looked at him.
That sentence mattered.
Ethan placed Lily carefully in the bassinet.
Grace watched his hands.
Gentle.
Patient.
Different.
Or perhaps not different.
Perhaps this version of Ethan had always existed beneath layers of entitlement, ambition, and cowardice.
That did not erase what he had done.
But healing was not erasure.
It was deciding what to build beside the scar.
“I know about Declan,” she said.
Ethan stiffened.
“What about him?”
“He loved me.”
Ethan looked down.
“I figured.”
“You’re not going to ask whether something happened?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because if you tell me nothing happened, I believe you.”
Grace felt tears rise unexpectedly.
“You didn’t used to.”
“I didn’t used to deserve your honesty.”
She sat.
“Ethan.”
He waited.
“I don’t know if I can be your wife again.”
His face tightened, but he nodded.
“I know.”
“But I don’t want Lily growing up with parents who can’t sit in the same room.”
“We can do better than that.”
“I think so.”
A small cry came from the bassinet.
Both moved.
Their hands touched above Lily.
Neither pulled away immediately.
Then Grace whispered:
“Coffee?”
Ethan looked at her.
“Is that a peace offering?”
“No.”
“A date?”
“Definitely not.”
He smiled.
“What is it?”
Grace looked at their daughter.
“A cup of coffee.”
May you like
Ethan nodded.
“Then coffee is enough.”
