Page 132 of The Professor's Wife

It was the one thing I refused to talk about. Another thing he wanted to bring up, but he wouldn’t.

I looked up at him, and he was watching me with that steady gaze. Always patient with me. Always tender to me. I had a feeling I wouldn’t recognize him if he treated me like he treated everyone else. I liked that special feeling, knowing I was different in his eyes.

But it was going to be a bad different soon.

I felt the tears threaten again, but I blinked them back. I didn’t want to cry. Not now. Not when the world felt so full of possibility.

“I’ll think about it,” I whispered.

He smiled softly. “That’s all I ask.”

He has to know.

He needs to know everything first before you follow him to a place that would become your forever.

Outside, a butterfly drifted past the windshield, its wings catching the light. I watched it disappear into the trees and wondered what it would feel like to follow.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

THE PAST

I shivered as we stepped out of the car and walked along the path to the event center. I’d never had to take this walk. My classes at the university had been on the other side of campus, in the tech building where the bridging students studied.

The cobblestone path was bordered by gardens and benches beneath flowering trees. As we crossed under one, I looked up, my eyes skimming the beautiful pink blossoms. I was tempted to reach out for one when Oliver chuckled.

“You’re shaking.”

I smiled and turned my attention to him. “I’m practically wearing nothing.”

My black dress was backless, and there was a slit along the side of the gown that showed a lot of leg. I couldn’t get used to the feeling of it on me. My feet hurt with every step. I’d had to walk all day in these rhinestone stilettos because I was paranoid I’d fall on my face in front of everybody. I hadn’t mastered it, so I hoped I’d be clinging to Oliver all night for balance.

He brushed his lips along my bare shoulder, and my skin tingled. “You look stunning.”

“Thank you.”

“I know you’re doing this for me. Dressing up and coming to this stuffy place—”

“Not at all. I want to be here.”

I wanted to be seen with him. I wanted people to look at me like I wasn’t the nothing that I was only two years ago. I felt elevated in Oliver’s presence. A woman of worth. If he could love me, then I had to be better than the black noise pounding inside my skull, telling me that I didn’t deserve any of this. That I was an imposter, and he would see straight through it in time and leave me.

Who was I without this man?

Nerves raced through me as we approached the large glass doors of the center. We arrived with many others, and I assessed them quickly, taking in the dresses and suits and feeling better that I wasn’t going to stick out like a sore thumb.

I took a deep breath, wanting to dig my nails into Oliver’s arm as the doors opened and we strode in.

The room was warm with chatter and clinking glasses. I smiled at everyone Oliver introduced me to, nodding politely, laughing when I was supposed to. I didn’t understand half the conversations—philosophy jokes, references to thinkers I’d never read—but I tried to keep up.

Then someone asked me a question.

It was one of Oliver’s colleagues, a woman with assessing eyes and a throaty voice. “So, Daisy, was it?”

Oliver’s grip around my waist tightened possessively as I nodded. “Yes.”

She caught the gesture, glancing briefly at Oliver before smiling strangely at me. “What do you think of Oliver’s latest paper on metaphysical realism?”

I blinked and attempted not to squirm. “Oh. Uh…I haven’t read it yet.”