My Father’s Wife Chapter 08

My Father’s Wife Chapter 08

Clara’s POV

Arthur’s proposal about having a child was entirely unexpected.

The conversation in the study kept coming back to me as I packed his suitcase.

His shirts were spread across the bed, white and pale blue, all pressed and ready for Tokyo. I folded one, then stopped with my fingers still on the collar.

Three years of marriage, and I had never once pictured a child with Arthur.

Not a nursery. Not a stroller by the front door. Not a small hand tucked into his.

The thought had never even had room to exist.

I picked up another shirt and folded it anyway.

Arthur was still downstairs on the phone. His voice came through the floor now and then, low and steady. Work voice. Deal voice. The voice that made everything sound simple if everyone else would just stop being difficult.

I checked the side pocket of his suitcase for his passport case.

It wasn’t there.

I checked the dresser, then the top drawer by the bed.

Nothing.

Arthur hated being asked where he put things before a flight, so I went downstairs to look for it.

The living room lights were low.

Julian was on the sofa in a loose black T-shirt and sweatpants, his damp hair pushed back like he had just showered. He had one ankle crossed over the other, phone in hand, looking completely at home.

He glanced up.

“Looking for something?”

“Your father’s passport case.”

“Bar drawer.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you wandering around like a ghost?”

I ignored him and walked to the cabinet.

The passport case was shoved behind a stack of receipts and loose batteries. I pulled it out and turned around too fast.

Julian had come up behind me without making a sound.

My shoulder hit his chest.

His hand caught my arm before I could step back into the cabinet.

It was only to steady me.

I knew that.

Still, his palm was warm against my skin, and my body remembered before I could stop it.

I pulled my arm free.

“Don’t sneak up on me.”

Julian lifted his hand, amused. “I was getting water.”

His glass was on the bar beside me.

I looked away first.

“Move.”

He leaned one hip against the cabinet instead. “So that was a no.”

I tightened my grip on the passport case.

“You were listening.”

“Dad wasn’t exactly whispering.”

“That conversation had nothing to do with you.”

“Most things in this house don’t. I still hear them.”

I tried to step around him. He shifted at the same time, and we both stopped.

The space between us was narrow now.

Too narrow.

His eyes dropped to the passport case in my hand.

“Funny place to draw the line.”

I looked up at him.

“What?”

“You married him. Took the house. Took the name. Took the card.”

His mouth curved a little. “But a baby is too much?”

The words were ugly.

Worse, they were close enough to something I had already been afraid of.

I stared at him until his smile faded slightly.

“You really do enjoy hearing yourself talk.”

“Only when I’m right.”

“You’re not.”

“No?”

“No.”

His gaze moved over my face, slow and careless.

“Then why did you look like that in the study?”

I didn’t answer.

Arthur’s voice sounded from behind the study door, muffled by the wood. He was laughing now, the calm polite laugh he used with people who mattered.

Julian heard it too.

His eyes flicked toward the hall, then back to me.

For a moment, the old heat moved between us, quick and familiar. The Cape. The laundry room. The way his hand had fit too easily on my waist.

I hated that it was still there.

Julian’s fingers brushed mine when he reached for his glass.

This time neither of us moved right away.

Then I pulled back and stepped past him.

“I need to finish packing.”

“Of course you do.”

His voice followed me, lazy and sharp.

“Arthur likes everything ready before he leaves.”

I tightened my grip on the passport case and kept walking.