Marcus chuckled.
“You don’t even believe that,” he said.
“I’m serious, I will!”
He full-on laughed.
“You two need to work this shit out between yourselves. Please don’t involve me unless you’re seeking a divorce attorney. I’ll see you when you get back.”
And just like that, he hung up.
Different Pages.
Yep, Still Day Seventeen.
I changed into the clothes Theo had left and went downstairs.
The house was quiet. The living room glowed dimly with the soft, orange light of the freshly lit fire pit. Theo sat on the couch, hunched forward, a half-empty decanter on the table in front of him.
He didn’t look at me when I came in.
“Teddy?” I said quietly. “Can we talk? Just… without yelling this time?”
His hand tightened around the glass. He let out a breath, not quite a sigh.
“You know,” he murmured, eyes fixed on the fire, “every project I’ve taken on these last few years has some piece of you in it.”
I walked over slowly, unsure if I should sit.
“Some have your favorite color painted into the walls,” he continued. “Some have little details—snack drawers, light switches at the height you like, soft-close cabinets because you hate the sound. Even the hotel we stayed at had tiled roofs, just like the ones you loved from my model back at Eden. Do you remember?”
I nodded, my heart stuck in my throat. “Yeah. I remember the dollhouse.”
He smiled faintly. Not a happy smile, just a memory passing through him.
“I always add things you’d like,” he said. “I don’t know why I did it. Maybe it’s just… muscle memory. Maybe looking at blueprints all day gets easier when I can picture you in them.”
He poured another drink and downed it without flinching.
Then he stood.
“This house,” he said, voice raw, “is the closest thing to a home I’ve felt in a long, long time. I thought—fuck, I really thought bringing you here was the right thing. I was so fucking excited to show it to you.”
My chest tightened. “And I love it.”
His hand curled into a fist at his side.
“Now it feels like all of it was a mistake. Not just the house,” he added, quieter. “But you coming to Italy as a whole. These past two weeks have put our relationship through hell. We don’t trust each other anymore. How could we? We’re constantly pulling in opposite directions. Everything we do has strings tied to it, and half the time it’s like we’re trying to control each other.”
My throat burned, and I didn’t interrupt.
Doubt: You can’t, ‘cause he’s right.
“We’re destructive,” he said. “We’re petty. I barely recognize us.”
I finally sat down across from him, folding my hands in my lap. “If all that’s true, why did you propose to me?”
He looked at me then. His eyes were glassy but transparent.
