The penthouse was unusually quiet when they returned from the luncheon. Amelia slipped off her heels, still reeling from Alexander’s words to the press. This woman is my wife. My only wife.
She had replayed it in her head all afternoon. He hadn’t said it for business. He hadn’t said it for appearance. He had said it for her.
As she moved toward her room, she stopped short. A warm glow spilled out from the library—Alexander’s sanctuary, the one place he rarely let anyone enter.
Curiosity tugged at her. Quietly, she stepped inside.
Alexander was there, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, his tall frame bent over something on the table. For a moment, he didn’t notice her, too focused on the object in his hands.
When he finally looked up, his expression flickered—caught between surprise and so
