Chapter 15: The Distance Between Us
887 Words
I heard the front door click shut before I saw her.
Maria walked in slowly, like the day had taken more from her than she was willing to admit. Her shoulders were stiff, her jaw tight, and something about the way she avoided looking in my direction told me she wasn’t just tired—she was somewhere else entirely.
Still, I stayed on the couch, pretending not to notice, pretending not to care. My glass of scotch was nearly empty, but I didn’t reach for more. I just watched her over the rim, silent.
“How was brunch?” I asked, keeping my voice neutral, detached. Cold, maybe. That felt safer.
She didn’t answer at first. Just kicked off her shoes by the door, placed them side by side like she always did. She had this way of keeping things in order, as if control over the small things could keep the rest of her from falling apart.
“Fine,” she said eventually, her voice clipped. “Susan was… the same.”
The edge in her tone didn’t go unnoticed.
“Did she ask questions?”
Maria turned then, finally meeting my eyes. “Of course she did. She always does.”
“She didn’t know about us?” I asked.
“She does now. She found out with everyone else—when it hit the press.”
I sat forward, resting my forearms on my knees. “You didn’t think to warn her?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Why would I? She wasn’t exactly supportive the last time I mentioned you. I figured letting her see the headlines was less exhausting than having that conversation again.”
So she had told her. Before. Before we’d even signed the contract.
“And what did you tell her back then?” I asked. “When you mentioned me.”
Her expression hardened. “That it was complicated. That it wasn’t real.”
My chest tightened. “And now?”
“She knows it’s official. But I didn’t go into details. I didn’t owe her that.”
“No,” I said quietly. “But you told her about the contract.”
“She’s my friend, Andrew.”
“And I’m your—” I stopped myself, jaw clenched. “Forget it.”
“No,” she said, crossing her arms. “Say it. You’re my husband, right? That’s what you were going to say?”
I said nothing. The word tasted like a lie anyway.
She let out a bitter laugh. “Right. We wear the rings, we smile for the cameras, but behind closed doors—this isn’t a marriage. We both know that.”
I rose to my feet, stepping toward her. “Then what are we doing, Maria? Because some days I can’t tell where the line is anymore.”
She looked up at me, something unreadable in her eyes. “You think I can?”
The room fell into a silence so heavy, it practically pulsed. I studied her face—the flush of frustration on her cheeks, the glint of something deeper in her gaze. Not anger. Not quite. It looked like sorrow.
“Why does it matter what Susan knows?” she asked suddenly, softer now.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Maybe it shouldn’t. Maybe it’s just… I don’t like that she knew before I did. That there’s a version of you she sees that I don’t.”
She blinked, caught off guard.
“Is that what this is about?” she whispered. “That you want to know me?”
“I don’t know what I want,” I said, voice lower now. “But this thing between us… it’s not just business anymore, is it?”
Her eyes flickered, like the question hit somewhere she didn’t want it to.
“I think about you more than I should,” I added, before I could stop myself. “Even when I tell myself not to.”
She didn’t respond. She just stared at me, like she was looking for something on my face she wasn’t sure she’d find.
And then, quietly, she said, “It’s not just the contract that makes this complicated.”
My breath caught.
“There are things you don’t know, Andrew,” she said. “Things I’ve carried for years.”
I swallowed hard. “Like what?”
But she just shook her head and turned away.
I reached out without thinking, gently wrapping my fingers around her wrist. “Maria…”
She froze, her back still to me.
I didn’t pull her closer. I just held on, lightly. The kind of touch that asked instead of demanded.
After a long moment, she turned her face slightly toward me—not enough to meet my eyes, but just enough to let me hear her when she said, “I’m tired, Andrew. Not just physically. I’m tired of pretending.”
Then she slipped out of my grasp and disappeared down the hallway.
I stood there, alone in the dim light, the echo of her words lingering like smoke.
And for the first time since we signed that damned contract, I realized the part of this I hadn’t prepared for—the part that scared me most.
I wanted her to stop pretending too.
- Writer
