Chapter 12: Sleepless Nights

Emma woke to the sound of rain.

Not the heavy kind. Just a soft, steady tapping against the windows.

She reached for her phone. 3:47 a.m.

Sleep refused to come back.

She lay there a while, listening to the house settle around her, before giving up entirely.

She slipped out of bed, pulled on a cardigan, and padded downstairs, hoping warm milk might succeed where exhaustion hadn't.

The hallway was dark and silent. Kingsley Manor always felt larger at night, as though the rooms multiplied when no one was watching.

As she passed the sitting room, a faint glow caught her eye.

The balcony doors stood slightly open.

Someone was outside.

Ethan sat alone beneath the covered terrace, a mug untouched beside him. The rain stopped just past the roofline, leaving the gardens washed silver under the moon.

He hadn't changed out of the clothes from dinner. He looked like a man who'd simply stopped moving at some point and let the hours pass over him instead.

He didn't turn around.

"I heard you walking."

Emma wasn't even surprised anymore.

"You always hear people coming?"

"Usually."

She stepped onto the balcony. "I thought you'd be asleep."

"I wasn't."

"I noticed."

Neither spoke for a moment. The quiet wasn't uncomfortable. Just unfinished.

"It's cold," she said.

"You should go back inside."

"You could do the same."

"I could."

He made no attempt to move, and after a moment, neither did she.

"I've noticed something," she said. "You rarely sleep."

"I sleep."

"Barely."

"Is it work?"

"No."

"Stress?"

"No."

"Most people would elaborate."

"I'm aware."

"Do you ever plan to?"

"Not tonight."

Emma shook her head. He had a talent for answering questions without answering them.

"Then why?"

The rain seemed louder for a few seconds.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than usual.

"I haven't slept properly in years."

Emma turned toward him.

Years. Not weeks. Not months. Years.

"What happened?"

His jaw tightened, almost imperceptibly.

"The dark is difficult."

"Why?"

He watched the gardens instead of her, as though the answer were out there somewhere among the wet hedges rather than in his own chest.

"It reminds me of promises I failed to keep."

Nothing more. No names. No story.

Emma waited. He didn't continue.

The gardens went on being silver and quiet, indifferent to whatever he wasn't saying.

She looked at his coffee, long gone cold.

"I'll be back."

He didn't ask where she was going.

The kitchen lights were dim. The night cook looked up, startled. "Mrs. Kingsley?"

"Sorry to wake you. Could I make some coffee?"

"I'll do it."

"No. I'd like to."

The woman stepped back, uncertain, and watched Emma find the mugs on her own, as though this were something she needed to do with her own hands rather than ask for.

A few minutes later she carried it back upstairs herself, steam curling into the cold air.

She set it beside him without a word.

He looked down at it.

"You didn't have to."

"I know."

She didn't stay. There didn't seem to be anything left that needed saying, and some things were better left as a cup of coffee and nothing more.

Back in her room, Emma lay awake a while longer, thinking about what he'd said.

Promises I failed to keep.

She turned the phrase over the way she might turn a stone in her pocket, looking for the smooth side and finding only edges.

She couldn't picture Ethan making a promise lightly. Which meant whatever it was, it still mattered. Enough to cost him years of sleep over it.

She thought about asking Nathan. She decided against it. Whatever this was, it belonged to Ethan, and he would hand it over on his own terms or not at all.

By seven, Ethan was back in his study. The mug Emma had brought him sat empty beside a folder he hadn't opened yet.

Nathan knocked once and let himself in. "You look tired."

"I'm fine."

Nathan set another folder down without comment. He'd worked for Ethan long enough to know which questions were worth asking twice, and which weren't.

"Your nine o'clock is early," he said instead. "Should I have them wait?"

"No. Send them in."

Nathan paused at the door. "You should try sleeping sometime."

"I've tried."

It wasn't the kind of sentence that invited a follow-up, so Nathan didn't offer one. He'd stopped expecting an answer on that particular subject years ago.

"One more thing," Nathan said. "The Foster Foundation gala is Saturday. I've declined it twice on your behalf."

"Then decline it a third time."

"I would, except Mrs. Kingsley's assistant already accepted for both of you this morning."

Ethan looked up from the folder for the first time since Nathan had walked in.

"She did what?"

Neither of them spoke of the balcony again.

Some silences build walls.

Others build understanding.

Emma wasn't sure yet which one this was.

She was, however, fairly sure she'd be finding out on Saturday, in a dress, in front of several hundred strangers.