Chapter 19: Almost Honest

Friday evening traffic crawled through the city with the stubborn determination of something that had long ago accepted it wasn't going anywhere quickly.

Emma glanced at the unmoving line of brake lights ahead. "We've traveled exactly twelve feet in the last five minutes."

Nathan looked up from the tablet in the front seat. "Twelve and a half."

"You measured?"

"I estimated."

"You estimated half a foot?"

"I've had practice."

"I don't know whether that's reassuring or deeply concerning."

"Both."

Even Ethan looked up from the folder on his lap.

The fundraiser had ended nearly an hour earlier. Another charity. Another ballroom. Another reminder that Olivia's interview hadn't disappeared from public conversation.

Emma had smiled when required, answered polite questions, ignored the less polite ones. Now she was simply tired.

The car lurched forward a few feet, then stopped again.

"Accident ahead," Nathan said.

"How long?"

"Forty-five minutes, they're saying."

"I suddenly miss speeches."

"I didn't think anyone could."

"Neither did I."

Nathan closed his tablet. "I'll see whether another route has opened." He stepped out to speak with one of the drivers ahead.

Silence settled inside. Not awkward. Just unfamiliar. Without Nathan's quiet efficiency filling the spaces, there was surprisingly little between them except the rain starting against the roof.

"I used to think getting married would look very different."

The words slipped out before she'd decided to say them.

"Different how?"

"I don't know."

"You just said you did."

"Not exactly." She rested her head against the window. "I thought there'd be certainty."

"When I was younger, I imagined I'd marry someone who'd make terrible pancakes."

"Pancakes?"

"My father couldn't cook."

"So your standard became pancakes?"

"It made sense at the time."

"What else?"

"I thought we'd argue about paint colors."

"You dislike arguments?"

"I dislike beige."

"I've never considered that a relationship requirement."

"You should. I'll add it to the list."

"There was a list?"

"There is now."

"What did you imagine?" she asked.

He didn't answer right away. Outside, rain blurred the streetlights into streaks of gold.

"I stopped imagining it."

"When?"

"A long time ago."

"Because of work?"

"Partly."

"And the rest?"

"I realized marriage doesn't automatically make people less lonely."

Emma looked down at her hands. "No."

"It doesn't."

Neither of them sounded as though they were talking only about marriage.

The rain grew heavier. Emma traced a finger through the fog on the window.

"I wanted a house with books."

"You have one."

"I wasn't referring to the library," he said. "I meant a home where people actually read them."

"I like that better."

"So do I."

"What was your favorite book?" she asked.

"When I was twelve?"

"Let's start there."

"The Count of Monte Cristo."

"You read that at twelve?"

"I had unusual hobbies."

"I was reading mystery novels I borrowed from the school library."

"You still like mysteries?"

"I like knowing how things fit together."

That answer lingered between them longer than either expected. Ethan found himself wondering whether she'd always tried to understand people before judging them.

It explained more than he realized.

"And you?" she asked.

"Anne of Green Gables."

"I wouldn't have guessed."

"Why not?"

"I imagined something more practical."

"I contain multitudes."

One corner of his mouth moved. Barely.

"There it is."

"What?"

"That almost-smile."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I've gotten quite good at spotting them."

"I'm concerned."

"You should be."

Nathan returned. "Still another thirty minutes." He looked between them. "I appear to have interrupted something."

"No," Emma said. "We were discussing pancakes."

Nathan blinked once. "I'll pretend that makes sense."

"It doesn't," Ethan admitted.

Nathan nodded as though relieved. "Good."

The rain eased. Cars began to move. Not quickly. Enough.

"You know," Emma said quietly, "I never imagined I'd be married."

"I never imagined I'd try."

For a brief moment, neither of them saw a contract, or a wedding arranged in haste, or headlines. Just two people talking about books, pancakes, and homes that didn't exist yet.

It felt strangely ordinary.

Neither of them had expected ordinary to feel like progress.

Kingsley Manor appeared through the gates just after ten.

"I'm glad we got stuck in traffic," Emma said, once Nathan had disappeared inside.

"So am I."

The words surprised both of them. Neither tried to take them back.

Walking toward the door, Emma found herself smiling. The marriage still wasn't real in the ways she'd once imagined. But it no longer felt like two strangers sharing a name.

It felt, however cautiously, like two people beginning to choose the conversation instead of the silence.

Upstairs, Ethan loosened his tie before pausing outside the study. The investigation folder still waited inside. So did the secret he'd promised to keep.

For one quiet hour in a traffic jam, he'd almost forgotten the secret.

Tomorrow, it would return to the center of everything.