“Fuck.” I look away, trying to rein in my irritation. I look back at her, and to her credit, she’s watching me, waiting to see what I’m going to do. “Look, I’m sorry I can’t be your Prince Charming. You said something yesterday about making the best of this, and that’s what I want. The house is for you. Pick what makes you happy. My attention needs to be on work, so you’ll be able to do what you please within safe limits.”
"Happy?" She lets out a sharp laugh. "You think a big, empty house will make me happy while you're off doing God knows what with God knows who?"
The assumption stings. She thinks Meghan is just a mistress. But she’d been so much more than that. But I can't explain that, at least not now. This isn’t the time or place.
"Choose the house, Hannah. Make it your own. That's all I'm asking right now."
Something shifts in her expression, a flicker of resignation, maybe. She slips under my arm and heads for the door.
I follow Hannah back downstairs, where the realtor waits with a hopeful smile. Hannah's mood shifts instantly as she asks about the kitchen appliances, and I hang back, watching her navigate the space.
Her fingers trail along the marble countertops as she opens cabinets and peers inside. "The storage is amazing." She turns to the realtor. "Is that a wine fridge?"
My lips twitch upward as I realize she’s still too young to drink but is intrigued by the wine fridge.
"Double-zone temperature control," the realtor explains. "Perfect for entertaining."
Hannah's face lights up as she explores each feature, and something tightens in my chest. When was the last time I felt this kind of simple joy? The way she moves through the kitchen, already planning where things will go, imagining future meals. I hope it means she’ll find peace in being forced to be married to an oaf like me.
"The backyard has a pergola," Hannah says, pressing her face against the French doors. "We could host summer dinners out there."
We. The word echoes in my head. She's planning a future that includes both of us. Is she thinking I’ll come around? Or is she just making a show for the realtor? Or perhaps just making the best of her shitty situation.
She opens the doors and steps onto the stone patio, her dress catching the breeze. The afternoon sun sets her hair ablaze, and for a moment, I see what could be. Lazy Sunday mornings, family gatherings, a home filled with warmth instead of shadows.
"What do you think about this one?" she asks, turning back to me. Her earlier anger has faded, replaced by enthusiasm.
"If you like it, it's yours."
She rolls her eyes. "That's not what I asked. This would be your home too, Ash. Don't you want some input?"
Home. That twisting sensation hits my chest again. When was the last time I had one of those? Not for ten years. Not since the Keans put a torch to my life. But watching Hannah plan and dream, I swear something is shifting inside me and I don’t like it.
“I have more to show you,” the realtor says.
Hannah nods. “I’d like to see more.”
The next house has Hannah practically bouncing with excitement. She darts from room to room while our realtorstruggles to keep up, spouting features and amenities that fall on deaf ears. I trail behind, hands in my pockets, fighting a smile that keeps threatening to break through.
"Look at this window seat!" She perches on the cushioned alcove, sunlight streaming across her face. "Perfect for reading or sketching."
Sketching? Does she draw? I’m an even bigger dick than I thought that I know nothing about her.
At the third property, she grabs my arm and pulls me into the kitchen. The contact sends unwelcome electricity through my body.
"The island is huge! You could actually cook here while I keep you company."
The image hits me hard. Hannah sitting at the counter while I make dinner, sharing stories about our day. It's so domestic, so normal. Everything I swore I'd never have.
“What makes you think I can cook?” I ask, surprising myself by joining in her fun.
“Well, someone has to.”
"You don’t cook?”
"God, no." She laughs, the sound bright and infectious. "But I'm an excellent taste-tester."
By the fourth house, I find myself actually looking at all the details, noting the security features, sight lines, escape routes. Not just for protection, but because I'm imagining us here. Hannah's enthusiasm is chipping away at my sour disposition.
