She Was Never Just the Billionaire’s Wife (Natasha and Chase) novel Chapter 94

(Chase)

It becomes a pattern without either of us deciding it should.

Lily has an appointment, it runs late, Natasha is too tired to drive, the apartment is two minutes from the hospital.

The logic is unassailable.

The alternative is an exhausted woman on a motorway at midnight, which is not something I'm willing to entertain.

So she comes back.

Night one was an anomaly.

Night three is a habit.

By night six, Natasha has started packing a small overnight bag, just in case.

Nobody discusses this.

We are, apparently, both committed to the position that if we don't name it, it isn't happening.

What is happening, very specifically, is that I’m losing my mind from being so close to Natasha and not being allowed to touch her.

The apartment is the right size for one person who doesn't want to think about things.

It’s not the right size for two people with a complicated history and a great deal of unfinished business.

We fill the time with Lily's charts, and work, and occasionally a very late dinner that one of us makes while the other sits at the kitchen counter.

There’s also conversation that starts professional and becomes something else without announcing the transition.

I know exactly what's happening to me.

I’ve known since Tokyo, if I'm being truthful, and probably before that.

It’s harder to manage what I know in this smaller space.

Where she sits across from me in the evenings with her hair down, her shoes off, and that focused, slightly impatient look she gets when she’s trying to solve something.

I am, by any objective measure, in serious trouble.

Tonight she’s on the sofa with Lily’s latest scan results and a highlighter, checking them against Dr. Patel’s notes.

Because Natasha doesn’t read documents without cross-checking them.

It’s the same instinct that made her the best financial mind I’ve ever worked with.

Seeing her use it to protect our daughter does something to my chest I can’t quite name.

"The creatinine level," she says, without looking up.

"What about it?"

"It's trending in the right direction but the rate is slower than last month."

She draws a line between two numbers.

"I want to ask Patel whether we should adjust the hydration protocol or wait another cycle."

"I'll call him in the morning."

"I already drafted the questions."

She holds up her phone. "I'll send them to you."

This is what I mean. This is the specific problem.

I cross the room to look at her phone and lean over the back of the sofa to read the screen.

She tilts it so I can see better.

Her hair is only a few inches from my face and smells the way it always has, which is not something I should notice, except apparently I’ve never stopped noticing.

"The third question," I say. My voice comes out differently than I intend it to.

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