Returns to me, still sprawled over the couch, still panting and sweating and completely soaked in bliss.
Then he helps me up and he kisses me.
And, for a perfect second, I'm a woman kissing the man who knows exactly what she needs.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
He shifts into that other version of himself. The gentle caretaker.
He helps me into the bath.
He doesn't join me. He sits there, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, soft and sweet as he helps me soap, shampoo, rinse, dress.
He has clothes here. My clothes. Ones I picked out with Paloma. And extras.
Her picks, I think. She has a certain flair for the dramatic. This midnight blue silk pajama short set—
It's completely her.
And this bedroom, with its bare walls and its Egyptian cotton sheets—
It's pure Ty.
A side he tries to ignore. The scared boy who's afraid of losing everything. Who's already lost far too much.
He lays me on the bed and pulls the sheets to my shoulders.
Then he leans down and kisses me good night.
Like he means it.
Like he wants more than sex.
Like he really does want to spend the rest of his life taking care of me.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ty
Except for the black dress on the hardwood floor, and the cocktail glasses on the coffee table, the room is the same as it was this morning.
Same soft leather.
Same clear glass.
Same Hudson River.
And the impression of Indigo changing everything.
Changing me.
I close my eyes and taste her lips, smell her shampoo, feel her soft body.
I feel her yielding, hear her begging, see that look of surrender—
I clear the cups. Hang her attire.
Undress. Shower. Don pajamas.
She's in my bed, sleeping soundly.
She looks right there, her dark hair blending into the black sheets, her body soft and still, her expression serene.
She looks right in my bed, in my space, in my life.
It shouldn't be a revelation. I asked the woman to marry me. Of course she's going to be in my life.
But this—
This lightness in my chest—
This warmth filling my entire body—
It's familiar.
The warm, soft, sweet danger that ends in pain.
I can't fall in love with her. It's out of the question.
But still, I climb into bed next to her.
Still, I pull her body to mine.
Still, I hold her close as I fall asleep.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Indigo
The sun streams through the windows, casting morning light over the black sheets and hardwood floors.
I close my eyes. Turn to the pillow. Soft, cool cotton. And it smells like Ty. His soap, his shampoo, his sweat—
Some perfect mix that's entirely him.
I roll onto my back. Stretch my arms over my head. Soak in the warmth of the sun.
Did I dream it?
Or was he really here last night?
Did I really feel like he loved me?
No, not loved. He isn't going to love me. But there must be some word that works. Something between the painful stab of care and the sweet promise of love.
I rise. Move to the bathroom, the one here, in the master.
It's already set up for me.
Purple toiletries. Toothbrush, razor, comb, towel set.
Dark purple. My purple.
Did he pick them out for me? Or was it Paloma, taking care of everything? Ink purple is straight out of her playbook.
Maybe that's his life. Maybe he lets the help run his household. But it's hard to imagine Ty ceding that much control.
He picked this out.
He made space for me.
He really is ready to commit to a lifetime with me, even though he'll never love me.
It's strange, but it makes sense in a Ty kind of way.
I brush my teeth, wash my face, comb through my messy locks as I move into the main room.
Fuck, this place is just as gorgeous in the day. The sun bounces off the river, casting a soft glow over the leather and hardwood.
Ty isn't here. And it's quiet.
According to my cell, it's early. And Sienna is proud of me for staying out all night. She's taking a victory run in my honor.
I can't help but smile. Some of this is hopelessly complicated. But helping my sister find a better life—
That's pure, unadulterated good.
I tap a coy reply. Move into the kitchen.
It's incredibly neat, of course. A French press and coffee grinder against the wall. Next to an electric kettle. And in the sleek cabinet above them—
Jackpot.
Some dark roast coffee and a neat row of tea tins. A Japanese green tea, a spicy chai blend, and the black tea I loved at his office. Yunnan Hong Cha.
I set the water to two hundred degrees. Find a teaspoon. Scoop leaves into a sleek white mug.
While the water heats, I check the apartment for signs of him. The room at the end of the hall is an office.
It's exactly what I expect of Ty. A modern sit to stand desk adorned only with a computer. No decorations, no touches of home, no photos of family. Work. Ergonomic work, sure, but only work and the view.