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He popped his knuckles. She had a point. If he drew attention to himself, it’d be worse. Not only was she his wife, she was still his assistant. How could he travel to a business trip without an assistant? “Good point.”
“I’ll be super discreet.”
“You’re not tired of me yet?” he said, adding a tone of playfulness to his voice.
“Of course I am, cupcake. I’m only thinking of the greater good.”
A smile pulled at his lips. Yes, having her by his side wouldn’t be bad at all…
Twelve hours later, the driver purred past the gates of the property he’d bought more than a decade prior. His chest became constricted, like an invisible weight sat on it.
Every time he returned to this home, the image of his brother inundated his mind. What would Marcel say if he saw this mansion, filled with trees and with a backyard much bigger than two troublemaking boys knew what to do with? Nostalgia moved through him, followed by sadness. His brother never got to enjoy the laurels of Luc’s hard work.
“This place is beautiful,” Kira said, bringing him back to the present.
She sat next to him, wearing a shirt and pair of jeans. He loved her in casual clothes—they matched her straightforward attitude. No games. Sure, she worked for his father, but that was implied. An unspoken agreement. He wondered if she was honest with herself about it.
Not bringing it up was easier—after all, even though she didn’t seem like she played games, the fact he even considered talking to her about it showed how silly he must have become. How foolish.
She offered her hand to him, entwining her fingers in his, and when he looked at her, she gave a little squeeze. In tandem, his heart squeezed in his chest, then floated up his throat and beat madly. Something about this silent support unfurled a quiet yet powerful message. She was there for him—for better or for worse. At least right now, she must have sensed his concern, anxiety, and mourning of the years he’d lost—the life that had been taken from his brother, and in a different way but not less painful, the life that had been taken from his mother.
When the driver parked the car at the entrance of the impressive property, he sucked in a breath. Kira tugged his hand harder this time and offered a sympathetic smile.
“Must be hard staying away, right?” she said. The driver opened the door for her, and she slowly slid out, her eyes on him, like he was some sort of ticking time bomb that would explode if she moved too quickly. What a mess.
He got out of the car and waved at his driver, who nodded and returned to the car. The man would bring their small pieces of luggage later.
“I meant… must be hard staying away from your mother,” she said, breaking the silence and stealing him back from his dark thoughts. “Since you’ve moved to the US.”
“Right,” he said. Of course she thought he’d moved to New York permanently, like the rest of the world, when he’d really just needed enough time to ruin his father’s life. A lump burned in his throat. “I can’t move her, she would be too confused,” he said, in a pathetic move to offer her a semi-truth.
“You’re a good son, Luc.”
He rang the doorbell and waited for the housekeeper to come open it. Guilt weighted on his shoulders. A good son, maybe. A bad husband? Certainly…
