11

The dining room was quiet, save for the soft clink of cutlery and the muted sound of the air conditioning. The scent of grilled salmon was thick in the air, mingling with roasted garlic and the faint sweetness of honey mustard sauce...his favorite. Ava had gone all out tonight. She always did when she wanted to distract him. From work. From stress. From something. But tonight, he wasn’t the one who needed to be distracted.

She placed his plate in front of him, brushing her hand against his shoulder so quickly he might’ve missed it if he wasn’t already paying attention.

That smile. The small, polished one. She used it when she didn’t want to be read.

Alexander’s eyes stayed on her.

She was wearing his shirt again...oversized and black with the faded logo from a long-forgotten design convention. He remembered she’d stolen it two years ago and refused to give it back. Said it smelled like him. Now it just smelled like her.

Her legs were bare, curled beneath her in the chair across from him. Her hair was tied up in a loose knot that somehow made her look even more effortlessly beautiful. She looked like the definition of comfort. Of home. Of his entire world wrapped into one woman.

And yet…something was off.

She wasn’t eating like she usually did...she was picking at her food, stabbing at her potatoes like they had personally offended her. The same hand that had tugged his hair earlier, as she straddled him on the living room couch, now moved listlessly, like she wasn’t really present.

He leaned back in his chair, fork poised halfway to his mouth.

“You’re quiet.”

She didn’t look up. “I’m eating.”

He nodded slowly, chewing as he studied her. “You didn’t say you love me.”

Her fork stopped mid-slice. The pause was so quick, so subtle, anyone else would’ve missed it. But not him. He saw everything when it came to her.

She reached for her water glass a beat too fast. “I figured you already knew.”

“I want to hear it.”

She offered him a faint smile, the kind that barely moved her lips. “You’re dramatic tonight.”

“Ava.”

Her head tilted slightly, her gaze finally lifting to meet his. “What?”

“You think I can’t tell when something’s wrong?”

She met his stare, held it with just enough defiance to try and keep him at arm’s length. “You’re overthinking again, baby. Don’t do that.”

“No, I’m not. Don’t do that,” he said, voice steady, but there was an edge now. “Don’t pretend you’re fine when you’re not.”

She sighed and looked away, her hand lazily dragging across her plate. “Alexander. Can we not ruin dinner?”

“I’m not trying to ruin anything. I’m trying to talk to my wife.” His voice sharpened a little. He leaned forward, arms resting on the table, eyes locked on hers. “You kissed me like you couldn’t breathe without me, Ava. But you didn’t say it back. And now you’re sitting there smiling like everything’s fine...but I see your shoulders. I see the way you’re avoiding my eyes. You’re not okay.”

She placed her fork down with a soft thud, sat back, and crossed her arms. “Why are you making it a big deal?”

“Because I know you,” he said, more gently now. “I know how you deflect. I know what your silence means.”

Her lips tightened as she glanced at the floor.

“I can’t fix what I don’t understand.”

“You’re acting like I’m some broken puzzle that needs fixing,” she muttered, brushing invisible crumbs off her lap.

“No,” he said firmly. “I’m acting like a man who loves his wife. Completely. Without condition. Without games. And I’m not going to sit here and pretend I don’t notice when something’s eating you alive.”

The silence that fell over the room wasn’t dramatic...it was heavy. Real. Two people in love, staring across the table, neither wanting to break what they had, but both knowing something was cracking beneath the surface.

“I’m just tired,” she said after what felt like a century.

He studied her. Watched the twitch in her brow. The way her jaw clenched and unclenched.

Then he stood up.

She didn’t look at him as he walked around the table. She didn’t move until she felt the chair shift slightly, and then he was crouched in front of her, those strong hands resting gently on her knees.

“Talk to me,” he said quietly. But his voice wasn’t weak. It was full of command and care...power and patience.

Her lips parted like she might finally say it. Her eyes softened, and for a second he thought the wall was coming down.

But she blinked, and the moment vanished.

Instead, she reached out and ran a hand through his hair. Soft. Gentle. Familiar.

“I’m okay.”

He exhaled through his nose, his jaw flexing, but he didn’t press her again.

Instead, he leaned forward and kissed her thigh...slow, tender. Then her hand. “Alright.”

She gave him a small smile. One that said thank you for not pushing, even though she didn’t deserve it.

“Eat your food, Alex.”

He stood, eyes still locked on hers. “After you say it.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Say what?”

He didn’t flinch. “That you love me.”

She tried to smirk, but it came out more tired than amused. “You already know I do.”

“I still want to hear it.”

She rolled her eyes, this time more playfully. “Fine. I love you.”

His lips curled into a satisfied smile, and he leaned in, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Good. Now I’ll eat.”

He walked back to his seat, picking up his fork like nothing had happened.

Ava turned her head slightly, watching him.

He looked so at ease, so content. As if her love was enough. As if her smile was enough.

And somewhere inside her, something twisted.

Because he deserved the truth.

And tonight… she couldn’t give it.

Not yet.