He blinks rapidly a few times. The rest of him remains frozen.

“What?” he asks eventually.

“I’m moving back to England. My student visa expired when I graduated. I have to leave in twenty-eight days.”

Impossibly, the V gets deeper. His hands curl like claws on the armrests of his chair. “I don’t understand. Why would you return to England after everything that’s happened there instead of renewing your visa?” He sounds annoyed. As if he disapproves of my choices.

“I don’t want to go back. But I tried to get a new visa and they denied it. I had just left my immigration interview when I first saw you.”

He tents his large hands and rests his chin on them. Confusion transforms to suspicion.

“Isn’t there some other visa? It seems a little…unbelievable.”

I bristle at the judgment in his voice but I force myself to remember that Aiden is like Reagan. Unquestionably American. Unshakably welcome. He cannot fathom what most of us outsiders have to go through only to breathe American air. It’s not his fault. He just doesn’t know.

“I’ve tried all I can. I tried three visas, in fact. They were all denied.”

“But what about your credentials? Your supplement? Surely that counts for something?” he demands, straightening into his high-alert posture.

I open my mouth to explain but suddenly cannot. All those details, so vital to me, feel like banalities between us now. I swallow and shake my head. “Not good enough.”

And it’s starting to feel like the truth—about everything.

He stands up forcefully, the chair squeaking from his strength. There is no confusion or suspicion on his face. In fact, there is no emotion. Just purpose. I can’t deny my disappointment. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but I was hoping for something. The shifting tectonic plates as he shares something, too, and lets me help. Or a hug, a kiss, a kind word, some reassurance maybe. It will be okay. I’ll miss you. Glad we met. Or even anger. Fuck this. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I’d even take some relief from him at having a way out. Anything but this calculated, rational problem-solving. Because with this, I have no idea if he cares or if he just feels like he needs to do something for the poor orphan who has nowhere to go.

He paces twice behind his desk, then sits back down. He picks up his phone and presses a number.

“Cancel my two o’clock and hold all calls,” he spits out and hangs up.

“Aiden—” I say, but he puts up an index finger while he scrolls on his phone. I look at the clock on the wall, unable to stand the concentration in his eyes. This is not what I wanted. I don’t want to be a nuisance to him, something he needs to fix. Saying goodbye will be hard enough without feeling like in the end, I was a burden, not a woman. Like I added to his troubles, not eased them as I meant to do.

“Aiden Hale for Scott Reeves.”

I barely blink by the time he speaks again. Scott Reeves must be really fast or the mere name Aiden Hale makes him drop everything he is doing.

“Scott, I need to see you now… Cancel it. I’ll pay double. Bring your best immigration lawyer, actually the whole team… Thank you.” He hangs up and starts scrolling again.

Bloody hell! There is no reason to pay double for a team of lawyers only to hear what I can tell him for free. And I don’t want him to know about the marriage and investment options. This new Aiden may think I was setting him up all along for a green card or for his money. The thought is revolting.

“Aiden, can you please put your phone down?” I ask with as much volume as I can manage. He looks up.

“I know my options. You don’t need to pay an army of lawyers for me.”

He shakes his head. “No offense to you, Elisa, but I’d rather hear a professional on this. And frankly, I pay an army of lawyers on a daily basis so it doesn’t matter.”

He scrolls through his phone again and dials, effectively ending the conversation. I tune out his business discussion as much as I can, trying to make sense of the madness. He eventually hangs up, takes a deep breath and stands. “Let’s go meet the lawyers.”

I suppose he means to be kind, but I can’t accept. Not when he is cold like this. Plus, it will be embarrassing to sit there in front of all those suits and look at his face when he hears that marriage or money can save me. I’m sure he gets hit like a piñata for either or both of those by countless women. And I don’t care about either. I only want his time. I stand.

“Aiden, I don’t want to go to this meeting. It’s not what I was expecting from you and I would have never told you if—” I stop because my reasoning now seems faulty—the kind of reasoning Dad or Denton would have never let me build an experiment on.

“If what, Elisa?”

Well, I might as well own to it. “If I didn’t want to be honest with you and help you. I thought if I shared my secret with you, then maybe you would open up with me too. Share some of whatever makes you tense this way.”

His jaw locks and the sniper focus of his eyes slips a little. He looks almost angry. Good. It’s better than this cold composure I’ve had to endure all morning. “I thought I made it obvious, Elisa. I do not share, no matter how many secrets you tell me or how many days you spend with me.”

I nod as he quashes my sandcastle logic.

“My mistake,” I say in my most even tone. “But perhaps you would do me the courtesy of sharing your last night’s conclusions about me so that we can be on the same page. I think I deserve an explanation.”

He stares at me. His gaze is so intense, so blinding that I almost shut my eyes.

“I think saving your future is a little more important at the moment.” For the first time this morning, his voice softens—as though he is both answering and evading.

He is right, of course. I am desperate for a solution. But why doesn’t any part of me agree?

As though he can sense my hesitation, he inches closer. “We can talk about the rest after the meeting,” he says and steps aside, indicating for me to walk ahead of him.

I realize now that I have never seen him lead the way or walk through a door first. He is always the last through. Is this just his manners or something else? I tuck this question away for now and focus only on my own steps, the battalion of lawyers waiting for me and, above all, some answers. The lights flicker one last time as we cross the library threshold.

Chapter Twenty-Five

For Sale

The law firm’s receptionist, a beautiful woman who looks like Adriana Lima, blooms and flutters and melts and smiles the moment she sees Aiden. I think even her tongue is wagging a little. It’s not until the clearing of his throat that she comes back to earth and leads us to a large conference room, her hips swaying a little more than natural movement allows.

Six lawyers stand up in unison the moment Aiden enters. They’re all in suits and I’m sure they’re quite wealthy in their own right. Yet, by the way they simper at the sight of him, he owns them. Aiden keeps his customary physical distance even when they shake hands. He introduces me as “Elisa Snow, a friend”.

I memorize the lawyers’ names, especially the oldest, Bob Norman, who is the chair of the firm’s immigration law department. He has a Santa Claus belly and fluffy white hair, and is about seventy years old. His smart gray eyes twinkle in his gentle face. The others seem to be regular suits, probably surprised to be called into this urgent meeting only to face a young woman instead of an army of immigration police.

Aiden leads me to the wall side of the enormous, black marble table, and we all take our seats. Another pattern chooses this moment to fall into place. I’ve never seen him sit with his back exposed. Not even in his home. Hmm… I file this observation under the ever-expanding Aiden Hale file for later.