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“I know.” I feel my chest clench, my heart wrenching as if someone has clutched it in their hand and twisted. “I can’t make it up to you, Amalie. I can’t change it. I can only tell you how much I regret it—and that I understand if you want a divorce after finding out about all of this. I wouldn’t blame you. I’ll find a way to make that happen without it hurting you or your family. I’ll make sure the child is provided for. If—”
“If it’s yours?” She bites out the words, cutting me off, and I shake my head.
“I believe you, Amalie,” I say quietly, feeling my heart wrench all over again. “I’m sorry that I made you think that I didn’t—that I tried to believe that I didn’t—to push you away. I’m sorry that I treated you so badly that it made you think something so terrible of me. I will make sure you’re both taken care of.”
Amalie is quiet for a long moment, her fingers twisting together in her lap. “I have things to apologize for, too,” she says finally, her voice a low whisper as she looks up at me. “I didn’t understand why you were so hot and cold—why things were so different from when we were in Ibiza. The things I found made me suspicious, and I—I let my imagination run away with me. I’m sorry—”
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” I tell her firmly. “Your imagination ran away with you because I refused to give you any answers. I didn’t give you the space to be able to come to me and tell me what you found—whenever you tried, I got angry. I was so angry about what happened for so long—and guilty, too, in some ways. I didn’t want to talk about it or bring it into our marriage, but it started to eat away at it anyway. I could have avoided so much if I’d been honest with you. None of this is your fault, Amalie.”
“My family has skeletons, too,” she says softly. “You know that. My father’s death, my brother’s exile—all because he had ambitions that he wouldn’t put to rest. I don’t know if I’ll ever see Andre again. I don’t entirely know if I want to. But I would have understood, David. And I would have tried to help, if I could. I—I cared about you, in Ibiza. If we’d started the marriage differently, things might have been—”
“I know.” I swallow hard, trying not to think of the irony in all of this, that in attempting to push her away to avoid a broken heart, I’ve ended up with one anyway. I can feel the hurt of her leaving already, even with her sitting right in front of me. “I’ll talk to my father tomorrow.”
“I don’t know if I want a divorce,” Amalie says, startling me. “I wasn’t even sure that I wanted to leave. We’ve had—moments. But I was so afraid.”
“I’m so sorry—”
“Just let me finish.” Her voice is stronger now, a little more sure. “I don’t know what our marriage would be like if we actually tried, David. I have no idea. It doesn’t have to be all parties and wild sex like Ibiza—but what we’ve had so far, so much of it has been awful. But I’ve seen the moments where it’s clear that there’s something here. That we both care about each other, when we’re not pushing each other away.”
“I was awful to you on purpose, to do exactly that. I’ll always regret that.” I feel defeated, like a weight has settled on my shoulders that I don’t think I can ever shrug off.I’ve ruined two marriages.It feels like the most terrible failure.
“The baby is yours.” Amalie looks at me directly, her gaze taking on a hint of that rebelliousness that’s become so familiar to me. “There’s no question of that. I might have toyed with you from time to time to try to make you doubt, to piss you off because I was so angry with you—and I was wrong for that—but I couldn’t bring myself to want anyone else when we were in Ibiza. There was never anyone but you. Ineedyou to believe that, David. It’s the only way that there can be even a chance of a way forward for us.”
“I do believe you.” I put every bit of sincerity that I can muster into it. “And I won’t let any harm come to either of you. I will do anything you want, give you anything you need. I promise you that.”
Amalie is quiet for a long moment. I see her touch her stomach, her fingers grazing over the front of her blouse. “So what now?” she asks softly, and I can see the question for what it is. It’s her, giving me a chance. Waiting to see what I’ll say, at this moment when she’s chosen not to run away from me.
I stand up, slowly, holding out a hand to her. “Do you want to try?” I ask, as gently as I possibly can. I look into her eyes, this woman that I’ve married, who I’ve never given a chance to be what I need. Who, I know, deserves so much better than me.
Amalie looks up at me, and for a moment, I think she’s going to say no. And I know that if she did, I would let her go.
I can’t keep another woman who doesn’t love me caged, no matter what my family says. No matter what my father might want.
She stands up, putting her hand in mine. “Yes,” she says softly. And then she steps forward and kisses me, her hand against my chest, her body leaning into mine.
Together, hand in hand, we turn to go back upstairs.
31
AMALIE
When I wake in the morning, I can’t help but wonder at first if everything that happened last night was some kind of strange dream. It takes a moment for it to all come back to me—my attempts to flee the house, David catching me, the long talk on the couch. The realization that the truth was both somewhat similar to what I had suspected—and very far removed from it, all at once.
The decision we both made to try.
I’d half expected him to want sex when we came back upstairs to bed, to want to make up in the way that I imagined he’d desire. But instead, he’d simply laid back down and held out his hands in the space between us on the bed, taking mine and asking me to forgive him.
I told him the truth—that it would take time. That I couldn’t promise that everything would be okay in a day, or a week, or a month. That we would have to learn to trust each other. To be vulnerable.
He said he wants to keep me safe. I want to believe him. And, I suppose, only time will tell if I can.
He’s not in bed when I wake up, and I feel a pang, a sudden suspicion that maybe he wasn’t as sincere as I believed. And then I look up, and I see the vase of roses on my vanity—identical to the ones that were on the dining room table what seems like so long ago now, when he’d tried to apologize to me without words. I don’t have to guess at the significance of it, or that he’s trying to reassure me that he meant everything he said last night.
I sit there looking at them, trying to sort through my emotions, and I hear the bedroom door creak open. David steps in, already dressed, and there’s a look on his face that I’ve rarely seen. It’s softer, happier than what I’m accustomed to.
“I was hoping you’d be awake.” He comes to sit next to me on the bed, reaching for my hand. His thumb grazes over my knuckles, and he lets out a slow breath. “Have you changed your mind about trying to make things work between us? Any second thoughts in the light of day? Because if not—”
“No second thoughts,” I tell him gently, curling my fingers around his. “It’s still going to take time. I meant that. But I—I do want to try.”
