My Boss is my Husband

Chapter 4

The morning after the dinner was strange.

I woke up and for one second, I forgot where I was. The ceiling was too high. The bed was too big. The room was too quiet.

Then I remembered.

I was Mrs. Smith. I was married to my boss. And last night, he held my hand under the table.

I sat up in bed. The ring was still on my finger. I had worn it all night. I did not remember putting it back on. But there it was. Gold band. Small diamond. His mother's ring.

I got out of bed.

---

The kitchen was empty when I came downstairs.

No Xwein. No Marta. Just the big white room and the big white table and the coffee machine that I finally knew how to use.

I made myself a cup. I sat down. I waited.

The clock on the wall said 7:15 AM. Xwein usually came down by 7:00.

At 7:30, I heard footsteps.

Xwein walked in. He was not wearing a suit. He was wearing gray pants and a black shirt. No tie. His hair was not perfect. A small piece of hair fell over his forehead. He looked tired.

"You're still here," he said.

"Where else would I be?"

"I thought you might leave. After last night."

"Why would I leave?"

He made a cup of coffee and sat across from me.

"Because last night was hard," he said. "Harrison is not easy. Most women would have cried. Most women would have run."

"I'm not most women."

"I know."

He looked at me over his coffee cup. Something was different about him this morning. Softer. Like the wall he always kept up had a small crack in it.

"Xwein," I said. "Can I ask you something?"

"You can ask."

"Last night, when Harrison asked if I loved you… I said what I said. And you squeezed my hand. Why?"

He was quiet for a moment. "Because you said the right thing."

"That's all?"

"That's all."

"You're lying."

His eyes flicked up to mine. "I don't lie."

"Everyone lies."

"I don't."

I looked at him. The crack in his wall was getting bigger. I could see something behind it. Something sad. Something scared.

"Xwein," I said softly. "You can tell me."

"There's nothing to tell."

"You squeezed my hand like I was important to you. Not like a business partner. Like something more. Why?"

He put his cup down. "Frix. Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to."

"What if I want the answers?"

He stood up. "We're going to be late for work. Get dressed. The car leaves in twenty minutes."

He walked out of the kitchen. I sat there with my cold coffee. He was running again. Every time I got close, he ran. But I saw the crack. And I was going to make it bigger.

---

Work was normal.

I sat at my tiny desk. I typed emails. I brought Xwein coffee at 12:15. Black. No sugar. He said "thank you" this time. Just one word. But it was different from before.

At 3 PM, my phone rang. It was my mother.

I stepped into the hallway to answer.

"Mama?"

"Frix, baby. I need to see you."

"Mama, I told you. I'm busy with work."

"Work is not more important than your mother. I haven't seen you in two weeks. Your father keeps asking where you are. I keep making up lies. I don't want to lie anymore."

My chest hurt. "I'm sorry, Mama. I'll come visit soon. I promise."

"When?"

"Soon."

"That's not an answer."

"Mama, I have to go. My boss needs me."

"Your boss. That man. Xwein. Is he treating you well?"

I thought about the sandwiches. The jacket. The hand squeeze under the table. "Yes, Mama. He treats me well."

"Good. Because if he doesn't, I will come down there myself. I don't care how rich he is. No one hurts my daughter."

I almost laughed. Almost cried. "I love you, Mama."

"I love you too, baby. Come home soon."

She hung up. I stood in the hallway for a long time. Home. I did not have a home anymore. Not really. My parents had their house back. But that was their house. Not mine. And Xwein's mansion was not a home either. It was a cage. A pretty cage. But still a cage.

I walked back to my desk.

---

At 5 PM, Xwein came out of his office.

"We're going somewhere," he said.

"Where?"

"Get your bag. Get in the car."

"No. Tell me where first."

He looked at me. His eyes were tired. "Does it matter?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. But I'm tired of being told what to do. I signed a contract. I didn't sign away my right to ask questions."

He stared at me for a long moment. Then he said, "We're going to see my grandfather."

I froze. "Your grandfather? I thought he was dead."

"He is."

"Then how are we going to see him?"

He turned and walked toward the elevator. "Get your bag, Frix. I'll explain in the car."

---

The car drove for forty-five minutes.

We left the city. We drove up a hill. At the top was a cemetery. Rows and rows of white stones. Green grass. Big trees.

The car stopped at the gate. "We walk from here," Xwein said.

We walked through the cemetery. The sun was low in the sky. Orange and pink. The air was cold.

We stopped in front of a gray stone.

Jonathan Smith. 1945–2022. Beloved father. Beloved grandfather.

Xwein stood in front of the stone. He did not say anything. I stood next to him. The wind blew.

"Why did you bring me here?" I asked finally.

"Because I come here every year on this day," he said. His voice was quiet. Different. "And this year, I wanted someone with me."

"Who else have you brought?"

"No one."

I looked at him. His face was not a stone anymore. His face was sad.

"He raised me," Xwein said. His voice was shaking. Just a little. But I heard it. "My parents were always traveling. Always working. So my grandfather raised me. He taught me how to ride a bike. How to tie a tie. How to be a man."

"What happened to him?"

"Cancer. Six months from the diagnosis to the funeral."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. It's not your fault."

We stood in silence for another minute. Then Xwein reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small white flower. He placed it on top of the stone.

Then he turned to me. "Thank you for coming."

"Thank you for bringing me."

He looked at me for a long time. The sun was almost gone. "We should go," he said.

He walked back toward the car. I stood there for one more second. Then I whispered to the stone: "I'll take care of him. I promise."

I don't know why I said it. But it felt like the right thing to say.

---

The ride home was quiet. But not cold. Not anymore. The quiet was softer.

"Xwein," I said.

"Yes."

"Why did you choose me? Really. Not the answer you give at dinner. The real answer."

He was quiet for so long I thought he was not going to answer.

Then he said, "Because you're kind."

"Kind?"

"You bring coffee to the cleaning lady. You say hello to the security guard by name. You gave your lunch to a homeless man last month. I saw you."

My face got hot. "You saw that?"

"I see everything, Frix. I told you. I look at you."

"Why?"

"Because you're the only real person in that building. Everyone else wants something from me. Money. Power. Connections. But you just want to do your job and take care of your family."

"That's not true anymore. I want your money. I want you to pay my family's debt."

"That's not wanting something from me," he said. "That's wanting something for your family. There's a difference."

I looked at him. His face was half in shadow. "You're not what I expected."

"What did you expect?"

"A monster."

"And what am I?"

I thought about it. "I don't know yet. But maybe not a monster."

He almost smiled. Almost.

---

That night, dinner was different. Xwein talked.

"What did you want to be when you were a kid?" he asked.

"A teacher. I used to line up my stuffed animals and teach them math."

He made a small noise. Almost a laugh. "Did they learn?"

"No. They were terrible students. Always sleeping in class."

He laughed. A small laugh. Quiet. Like he had forgotten how to do it. It was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard.

After dinner, I went to my room. I held the ring in my palm and thought about Xwein standing alone at his grandfather's grave. Every year. With a small white flower.

My phone buzzed. My mother: "Still waiting for you to come home."

I wrote back: "Soon, Mama. I love you."

I put the phone down. I stared at the ceiling.

Three hundred sixty-two days left. But for the first time, I was not counting. I was thinking about dark eyes and small laughs and a man who visited his grandfather's grave alone.

I was thinking about Xwein. And I was scared. Not because he was a monster. But because he was not. And that made him dangerous in a whole new way.

---