Chapter 14: The Rule

By evening, nineteen donors had written to say they were sorry I was unwell.

Maeve read them aloud over dinner in the flat, in a different voice for each one.

"'Take all the time you need, dear,'" she said, in a pinched whisper. "Sweet Jesus. They've buried you and picked the hymn."

"They believe him," I said.

"They believe the one who writes the checks. That's different."

She pushed back her chair.

"I'm going to bridge night," she said, "and I'm taking my time getting home."

She winked at Briggs on her way out, and he went red to the ears.

The door shut. The stairs creaked down. The front bell of the shop rang once as she left.

Briggs stood at the sink with a dish towel in his hands.

"I should go to the hotel," he said.

"Why?"

"Because of what you told me in the back room." His mouth twitched. "'Nothing happens while I'm his wife.' You were very firm."

"I was."

"I'm still sitting on that sentence, Lena. It's been bothering me for a week."

I stared at him. He looked back, perfectly grave, and the corner of his mouth went up.

"You're throwing my own rule at me," I said.

"I thought I'd see how it felt."

"You're enjoying this."

"I've waited seven years to enjoy something about you," Briggs said. "Let me have it."

I crossed the kitchen and took the towel out of his hands.

"I was wrong," I said. "I'm still his wife on paper. I'm done with the paper."

"Is that an official statement?"

"It's the only one you're getting."

He put both hands on my waist and lifted me onto the counter.

The tile was cold through my leggings. Briggs stepped between my knees and the rest of the room went away.

"No plan this time," he said against my throat. "No gala, no Alister. Nothing but this."

"Good," I said. "Take my shirt off."