Page 76 of The Billionaire's Wife

Tristan shrugged. “I’ve never wanted to be normal.”

I tipped my head back so I could see him and smiled. His eyes met mine and he eased his head closer. My breath caught. Would he finally kiss me? We’d had so many moments when it would have made sense—in my mind at least—but I wanted—needed—him to be the one to make the move.

Tristan rested his forehead on mine.

“Can I get—oh, sorry.” Steve winced as we both stepped back and turned to face him. “Really sorry. I just wanted a glass of water for the nightstand. Sometimes three a.m. comes and I need a little sip of something.”

“Sure, Dad.” Tristan moved into the kitchen and got down a glass. He filled it from the water dispenser in the door of the fridge and held it out. “Night.”

“Night. As you were.” Steve chuckled and disappeared toward the bedrooms.

I carried the empty dishes from the island to the sink, then returned to grab mine and tip the remaining soup back into the big pot on the stove. I cleared my throat to mask the disappointment that weighed on me. “What should I use to store the leftovers?”

Tristan came over to peer into the pot. His eyebrows lifted. “She doesn’t know how to make a small pot of soup, does she?”

“Soup’s always better when it’s made in bulk.” Years of cooking for one had proven that to me. The first couple of times when I’d tried to just make enough for one or two meals, the soup had been so bland, I’d given up and stuck with canned soup going forward.

“You have a point.” Tristan flashed a smile before squatting to open a lower cabinet and pull out three Chinese soup takeaway containers. “We can probably freeze some of it in these.”

“I imagine so.” I took the containers and started the process of emptying the pot into the containers while Tristan rinsed the dishes and loaded them into the dishwasher. The silence was broken only by the clinking of spoons and running water. It was comfortable. And still somehow slightly awkward.

“I met with Special Agent Orbison today.”

I paused briefly in ladling, then continued. I’d forgotten. “Right. You said you would. How did it go?”

“Honestly? Not as well as I expected. He made some noises about filing charges.”

“What?” I dropped the ladle into the pot and it clanged against the side. “I’ll leave. You don’t need to be tied to a felon for the rest of your life. Wouldn’t that just be an amazing look for you? Billionaire attorney married to a woman in federal prison.”

“Hey.” Tristan reached for my flailing hands and grabbed them. He held them tightly in his warm grasp even as I tried to pull away. “That’s not going to happen.”

“You can’t say that. You can’t know that.” I shook my head feverishly. “I’m nothing but trouble. I’m like…Typhoid Mary.”

Tristan’s lips twitched.

“Don’t you dare laugh.” I hissed under my breath. “You know it’s true.”

“I know no such thing.” Tristan stood calmly until I stopped tugging on him. “Here’s what I do know. I know that Orbison is ticked off that his plan didn’t work. I know he threatened legal action. I know I reached out to a well-respected criminal defense attorney—”

My panicked gasp made him pause.

He squeezed my hands and continued, “And she is reasonably certain he’s all bluster. But if—or when—the fed attorneys reach out, I’ll point them to her and she’ll handle it.”

“Tristan.”

He shook his head and squeezed my hands again. “We’ll handle this. And I will do what it takes to ensure you don’t end up in any sort of federal prison. Even if they’re offering the kind that people jokingly refer to as country clubs. Got it?”

I couldn’t look away from his gaze, and my objections died on my lips. I wanted to believe him too strongly to force the words out, even though I knew, deep down, that he couldn’t promise any of these things. I still wanted to believe that he could.

He tugged me close again and wrapped his strong arms around me. I could feel his confidence in the embrace and I yearned to be able to absorb even the tiniest sliver of it for myself. What I wanted to do was curl into a ball, shut my eyes, and pretend none of this was real. It was a skill I’d perfected as a child, and maybe I was out of practice now, but I had a feeling it’d come back pretty easily.

Tristan’s hand moved up and down slowly on my back. Gradually, without really recognizing it, I relaxed. His lips were next to my ear and the breath of his words made me shiver almost as much as the words themselves. “We’ll get through this together. I love you. I’m not letting you go.”

21

TRISTAN

Ilay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, reminding myself that it wasn’t time to get up yet. It wasn’t close to time. I couldn’t even pass it off as rising early to get in a workout before heading to the office.

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