Chapter 6

Adrian's return did not transform our home overnight.

He avoided me at first. Yet he stopped speaking about hardship as if it were a lesson plan. He found a new preschool with beastkin teachers, visited it himself, and asked Milo whether he liked the classes instead of announcing what the child ought to learn.

Milo did not suddenly become comfortable with him. He answered cautiously, watched for displeasure, and came to me when he needed comfort.

Adrian noticed.

That was part of his education.

One afternoon, I sat in the garden grooming Milo's lynx coat while he sprawled across my lap.

“I'm not a cat,” he complained. “And my ears aren't snack chips.”

“Correct. You're a premium, limited-edition cat-shaped child.”

“I'm not—”

The brush caught another cloud of loose gray fur.

Milo sighed. “That's so much fur. I wish it could turn into noodles.”

“You have a problem.”

“A delicious problem.”

A shadow fell across us.

Adrian stood nearby in the afternoon sun, his gold hair and lashes almost glowing.

He opened his mouth.

My brain betrayed me. I raised the grooming brush. “Do you want a turn?”

His pupils contracted.

“Thank you. No. I mean—no, thank you.”

Milo mistook his stiffness for anger and immediately shifted back into a boy.

“Mom was brushing me, but nobody else was here,” he said quickly. “I didn't do it in public.”

Adrian rested a hand on his head. “You're not in trouble. Go play. I need to ask your mother something.”

Mother.

The word made warmth rise into my face.

Adrian invited me to a business banquet later that week. Under our marriage contract, public appearances were my only formal obligation.

“I'm not good at networking,” I warned. “What if I embarrass you?”

He gave me an odd look. “You don't need to perform. Stand beside me.”

“If you're worried—”

My phone chimed.

Three hundred thousand dollars had arrived in my account.

I straightened. “Mr. Hale, I would be honored to stand beside you.”

Money did not buy affection.

It did, however, buy a terrifying amount of courage at formal events.

The ballroom glittered with crystal and carefully restrained hostility. Adult beastkin hid their ears and tails, but unusual hair and eye colors made many of them easy to identify. Most guests were too polished to insult Adrian openly. They used smiles, euphemisms, and business pressure instead.

Adrian answered each slight by shifting a contract, redirecting an investor, or mentioning a fact that made someone reconsider their tone. He moved through the room with effortless control.

I stood beside him, ate expensive appetizers, and enjoyed the show.

Then I left for the restroom.

When I returned, a young man was throwing red wine at Adrian's white dinner jacket.

Adrian turned enough to avoid most of it, but several drops bloomed across the fabric.

“My hand slipped,” the man said. “I won't apologize. The stain suits you, Mr. Hale. Shame about the custom tailoring, though. Such fine work wasted on a beastkin.”

Adrian had briefed me on the guests. This was the spoiled younger son of a competitor—reckless, vain, and desperate to impress people more powerful than he was.

Adrian removed his jacket, placed one call, and calmly took a major contract from the man's family.

The young man's face turned green.

“So what if you can make money?” he snapped. “Nobody loves you. You had a child before marriage, and now your wife only appears when you beg and pay her. Everyone knows she used to laugh hardest when people humiliated you. You're a filthy animal and an unwanted man.”

The room quieted.

Adrian's smile disappeared.

Across the crowd, his eyes met mine.

He did not ask for help. He looked as if this scene had happened too many times for him to expect any.

I pushed through the circle, took his hand, and faced the young man.

“Who says no one wants him? I do.”

Adrian went motionless.

“I'm his wife,” I continued. “I like that my husband is handsome, calm, successful, and rich. He's also capable of winning a fight without dumping his drink like a toddler. Your suit may be clean, but your taste is tragic, your manners are worse, and if this is your courtship strategy, you're the one who's going to die alone.”

I was not an expert at insults.

But the man's eyes filled with angry tears, so I considered the attempt successful.

I turned back to Adrian. “Let's go.”

His hand closed around mine.

Outside the ballroom, he stopped beneath the covered drive while an attendant brought the car.

“You don't have to keep holding my hand,” he said.

I looked down. Our fingers were still linked.

“Does it bother you?”

“No.” His thumb shifted once against mine, then went rigid. “I didn't want you to feel obligated.”

The contract required my presence, not my defense and certainly not my touch.

“Then I'll let go when I want to.”

I held on until the car arrived.

In the car, Adrian sat as far from me as the back seat allowed.

The composed businessman from the ballroom had vanished. His cheeks were red. His shoulders were drawn in. For a man his size, he looked remarkably like a bird trying to become invisible.

My own embarrassment arrived late.

“I said all that to stop him,” I explained. “You don't have to take it seriously.”

The color faded from his face.

He looked down. “Why did you help me this time?”

“You paid me to attend.”

His expression closed further.

I sighed. “And I hate watching people gang up on someone. What he said was cruel.”

Especially because, for one second, Adrian's expression had reminded me of a large cat pretending an injury did not hurt.

At home, Milo had fallen asleep on the couch while waiting for us. His new nanny sat nearby with a book. She was the same woman who had refused my first call. She had agreed to return only after speaking privately with Milo and setting conditions I was not allowed to negotiate away.

Now she said quietly, “He asked whether you'd come home with Mr. Hale or leave him at the party.”

Adrian heard.

Milo stirred when I lifted him. “Mom?”

“I'm here.”

His body relaxed before he fully woke.

I carried him upstairs. Adrian followed but stopped at the bedroom door.

“May I come in?” he asked.

The question surprised both Milo and me.

Milo considered it, then nodded.

Adrian sat on the chair rather than the bed. He watched me remove Milo's shoes and tuck the blanket beneath his chin.

“Did someone insult you?” Milo asked sleepily.

Adrian glanced at me. “Yes.”

“Did Mom yell at them?”

“Very effectively.”

“She is the Mommy Queen.”

“So I have been informed.”

Milo's eyes closed. After a pause, he held one hand toward the chair.

Adrian regarded it as if it were a legal document in a language he could not read.

I nodded.

He took his son's hand.

Milo fell asleep holding both of us.