Code Name: Solace

CHAPTER FOUR

I hesitated. Not because I wanted to stay—because I wanted to understand. The constant ebb and flow of his behavior, the way he pulled me in only to push me away. The sudden contractor visit.

He was hiding something.

And if it wasn't another woman, I was afraid of what it could be.

I left without another word but I'd forgotten my phone, and turned around for it, when I heard him on the phone.

"Tomorrow at 11. During the work, I'll need six flyers outside. Three for at least two months. And one planted at the Harvest Haven."

My stomach clenched. What?

His voice was lower than usual, measured. Like it meant something more than what it seemed.

"Okay. Ciao."

I froze.

Ciao?

The word slipped from his lips effortlessly, like second nature. But my husband didn't speak another language.

Fear crept up my spine and I headed for the shower leaving my phone where it was.

I showered quickly, hoping the warm water would ease the tension knotting in my chest. But no amount of steam could soothe the embarrassment still prickling my skin. I had unraveled for him so easily, coming apart in his arms from just a kiss. And yet, he hadn't wanted anything in return. He barely looked at me after, like I was something fragile to be handled, not desired.

I slipped into bed, turning my back to his side, forcing my breaths to come slow and steady. I wasn't sure I could face him right now—not after what happened, and certainly not after overhearing that strange phone call.

The bedroom door opened softly, his presence filling the space. I could hear him moving, the rustle of his shirt as he pulled it over his head, the quiet clink of his watch against the nightstand. He exhaled, the sound heavy in the silence, and then the bed dipped beneath his weight.

I waited, my body tight with anticipation. Would he reach for me? Would he say anything at all?

But the only thing that came was the soft click of the lamp turning off.

Nothing.

No whispered goodnight, no arm curling around my waist.

Just silence.

I swallowed against the lump rising in my throat. My husband, the man who once couldn't sleep unless I was in his arms, now lay inches away yet felt a world apart.

Minutes passed. Maybe an hour. My mind kept replaying his words on the phone. Tomorrow at 11. Six flyers outside. Three for at least two months. And one planted at the Harvest Haven.

It wasn't just business. I could feel it in my bones. The way his voice had lowered, the effortless way ciao had rolled off his tongue.

Who was I sleeping next to?

I shifted slightly, testing the space between us, and his voice came low and quiet.

"You're not asleep."

It wasn't a question.

I hesitated, then finally whispered, "Neither are you."

A long pause. Then the bed shifted, and warmth engulfed my back as his arm slid around me. He pulled me against him, his body firm and solid, his breath warm at the nape of my neck. I froze, startled by the sudden closeness.

His lips brushed my shoulder. Barely a touch. More a sigh than a kiss.

"I see you, Winona," he murmured, his voice rough, almost tired. "I know you think I don't, but I do."

Tears burned the backs of my eyes.

"Then why do I feel like I'm disappearing?" My voice was barely audible.

He didn't answer right away. His fingers traced slow, absentminded circles on my hip, his touch light but possessive.

"I never wanted you to feel alone," he finally said.

I swallowed. "But I do."

His grip tightened, his breath coming heavier against my skin.

"I'm trying," he admitted, and for the first time in months, there was something raw in his voice.

I turned in his arms, searching his face in the dim light. His jaw was tense, his brows drawn, but his eyes—God, his eyes.

There was longing there. And something else.

Fear.

"What are you so afraid of, Warren?" I whispered.

His throat bobbed, and for a moment, I thought he might tell me. Might finally let me in.

But then, just as quickly as it appeared, the vulnerability was gone. His expression smoothed over, his walls slamming back into place.

"Get some sleep," he said, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

And just like that, the conversation was over.

I lay in his arms, my heart aching, knowing that whatever secrets he was keeping, whatever weight he was carrying—he wasn't ready to share them with me.

Not yet.

But I also knew this:

I wouldn't stop until I uncovered the truth.