Page 181 of The Professor's Wife

His face cracked as he whispered, “What did you do?”

I swallowed, admitting, “I don’t know yet.”

And it was true. I didn’t know how ugly it got when I ran. I trembled hard, and Tristan noticed. He gripped my hand and squeezed it. “Daze, tell me what’s going on.”

I squeezed his hand back. I wanted to tell him everything, but we never got to that point yet. I gulped and looked back at the officer. “I’m Daisy.”

The officer’s eyes dropped at our entwined hands. He began to frown, mercilessly retorting, “Do you know Oliver Black?”

I stiffened a nod as my heart jumped to my throat. “I do.”

The officer glanced at Tristan. “Can you tell me your relationship to Oliver Black?”

I looked down at the ground. Then up at Tristan who peered down at me with a strange look in his eye. Every inch of me was paralyzed with fear. When I answered, I wasn’t answering the officer, I was coming clean to Tristan. “Oliver Black is my husband.”

Tristan’s grip loosened around my hand. I felt my heart drop the same moment his hand did. The gentleness erased from his eyes, replaced with a fierce coldness I’d never seen directed at me. He stepped away and turned his back to me. I watched him walk a few steps away to stand in front of his camper. I couldn’t see his face. I wanted to cry and fall into his arms and tell him he just needed to understand.

Instead, I held back my tears and looked back at the officer.

“We need to talk,” he said.

About that night, he meant.

The night I fled from a scene that might have Tristan watch me leave in handcuffs.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, but it did me no good.

No matter what happened after this moment, nothing would be the same again.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

THE LAST MORNING

I woke up a half hour earlier than Oliver. I slipped into my slippers and trudged to the kitchen. The silence was interrupted by the intermittent clicks of the air conditioner and the constant low hum of the air purifier. I didn’t look into Rowe’s bedroom as I crossed it down the long hallway.

I stepped into the spotless kitchen and began Oliver’s breakfast. Like a robot, I air-fried two strips of bacon and boiled one egg. I put a few spoonfuls of plain yogurt into a small bowl and sprinkled raspberries on top. I put two slices of multigrain bread into the toaster, ready to push down when it got close to serving. Then I removed the butter from the fridge and set it on the table with a butter knife at the ready.

“Smells good.”

His morning voice, gruff with sleep, cut through the air. I looked over my shoulder and smiled at him. He was working from home today, but he’d showered and dressed in casual slacks and a polo shirt. He came to me and wrapped his arms around me. His scent fell around me as he dotted kisses along my shoulder and neck. “You were already sleeping when I got home,” he uttered, biting gently at my earlobe.

I nodded. “I’ve been so tired lately.”

“Are you due?”

For my period, he meant. I nodded, keeping my voice light. “I am.”

“What are our chances?”

I spoke through the lump forming in my throat. “We’ll know soon enough.”

He let go and went about pouring himself coffee. I watched him from the corner of my eye, at his easy grace. There were no stiff movements or frown lines on his face. He looked peaceful and gentle today.

“I have a few meetings this morning,” he said, settling into his chair. I felt his eyes on me, watching my every move.

“Important ones?” I wondered, my voice high with interest.

He shrugged one shoulder. “Students.”