“You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck. What were you thinking?”
“The roof needed to be fixed.”
“By professionals. Instead you got your cronies together and . . . why are you grinning?”
“I have cronies.”
He sounded so ridiculously pleased that all the wind went out of Libby’s sails.
“You’re an idiot.” The words carried no heat at all.
“I wanted the house to be perfect for you. There’s more rain forecast for next week, and I didn’t want you and Clara to be in a house with a leaking roof anymore. Spencer has repaired roofs before, we all watched instructional videos ahead of time, I consulted an expert—we were doing a damned good job before I stupidly lost my footing and fell.”
“Oh God, the thought of you falling off the roof is so—”
“Wait, I didn’t fall off the roof,” Greyson interrupted. “I fell off the ladder. Although . . . falling off the roof does sound cooler.”
“What?”
“It’s lame, but I kind of lost my balance halfway down the ladder. My arm and leg got twisted in the rungs on the way down, and I hit the ground hard. The ladder added insult to injury by landing on me.”
“I was worried sick,” she admitted, and he lifted his uninjured hand toward her. She entwined her fingers with his.
“I didn’t mean to worry you,” he said, his voice gruff. He tried to touch her face and winced with the movement. She grimaced in sympathy.
“Try not to move around so much,” she told him.
“How’s Clara? Can I see her?”
“She’s asleep, and you need to rest.”
“About that wedding ring replacement . . . I was thinking.” He hesitated, and she waited patiently for him to continue.
“Thinking what?” she prompted him when he didn’t continue.
“I was wondering . . . I mean, this isn’t ideal, and I should probably wait until I’m a bit more mobile and bit less drugged . . . but I figured I’d ask before you changed your mind about loving me.”
“I’m not going to do that,” she said.
“You sure about that? You’re not just caught up in the emotion of the moment? I mean, a man gets injured fixing your roof, you’re going to harbor some tender feelings for him.”
“Possibly, but I doubt I would have told Brand or Spencer I loved them if they had been the ones to fall.”
“Good to know. So you meant it?”
“Greyson,” she said with a soft sigh. “I left because I wanted to be sure about my feelings for you. I didn’t want my judgment clouded by your proximity, or great sex, or what a wonderful father you are to Clara. But I missed you all the time while I was gone. I think that kind of sealed it for me. I didn’t miss you after I moved out of the penthouse seven months ago. I was too angry with you. Every time I thought of you, I was just filled with so much anger and sadness.”
“Not this time?” he asked softly.
“Not at all. I kept wondering how you were and what you were doing. I looked forward to our FaceTime sessions. I know I said they were for Clara, but they were mostly for me. Because I missed the sound of your voice, the sight of your face . . . I missed your laugh and your smell and your touch. I missed the way you are with Clara. The way you cared about us and our safekeeping. But most of all, I missed your companionship.”
“I missed you too,” he admitted. “That’s why I was so damned determined to fix the house for you. It kept me sane.”
“I know I’ve been hard on you,” she whispered, her fingers tightening around his. “I was just so terrified of allowing you to creep back through my defenses. Because I knew once you broached those walls, I’d have no option but to give you a second chance. After our night together . . . I confess I was running scared. The walls were coming down, and I was so afraid—I still am—of us just making the same mistakes again. Of failing again. After everything that has happened between us, everything that was said, all the ways we’ve intentionally and unintentionally hurt each other, how can we possibly succeed the second time round? When we first got married, I had this vision of us being the perfect husband and wife, building a perfect life together. But nothing was perfect; instead everything fell apart so quickly. I wouldn’t be able to cope if it happened again.”
His eyes were boring into hers with an intensity that should have made her uneasy, but instead she found herself comforted by his extreme concentration as he listened to her words.
“Refresh my memory,” he said after a long pause. His voice was thoughtful, as if he was earnestly pondering some conundrum. “Did I tell you I love you the first time round? Did you tell me you love me? Did we have the most beautiful, intelligent, adorable baby on the face of the earth back then? Did you have the perfect job? Did I have buddies? A friendly relationship with my brother? And were we having the best fucking sex in the history of ever?”