“Hate him? I don’t hate him. I’m sick with worry for him, and you won’t let me see him, and I don’t understand why.” Now, I stand. “Especially now. After the other night.”

“The other night? What does the other night have to do with anything?”

“We talked about a baby.”

“An heir.”

“A baby. A life! And you said he’d be loved.”

“I said I would do what is necessary. I never used the word love. That was you, Ivy.”

I falter. Did I misread things? The emotion I thought I saw? The connection we’d made?

His phone vibrates with yet another message, and his expression turns ugly as he replies to it. “Go to your room.” He takes a step to leave.

“My room. Not yours?”

He stops, then turns back to me. “I sleep alone. It’s better—”

“It’s not better. I’m your wife!” I push the chair in, but it catches on the carpet, and I have to pick it up to do it.

“Ivy, you’re picking a fight. Tonight is not the night. What I meant is—”

“I can’t live like this. I’m going crazy. My head is spinning. One minute you hold me, make love to me, talk to me about babies. The next, you dismiss me, sending me to my room, not yours. Not ours. You don’t tell me anything even when I’m the one who would have paid the steepest price for what happened to you. You still don’t tell me anything when I know you know much more than you’re letting on, and I have a right to know.”

“A right?”

“Yes. A fucking right!”

“That’s more than enough.” He takes my arm and starts to walk me out of the room. “I’m going to blame the alcohol.”

“Get off me! I’ll go on my own. I know when I’m not wanted.”

Without a word and without missing a step, he marches me up the stairs, hand tight around my arm but not bruising. And some part of me knows he’s taking care with me. But it’s not enough.

When we get to my door, he opens it and releases me only when we’re inside.

I take two steps away. “Are you going to lock me in? Don’t worry, I won’t try to sneak into your bed!”

He comes toward me, takes my arms, rubs them as he walks me backward. “Ivy, Ivy, Ivy. Don’t you think I want you in my bed?”

“No, I don’t.” I shove his hands away, but he traps me between the wall and himself. “You’ve given me every indication that you do not. Except when you want a fuck.”

“Shh.” He brushes a loose strand of hair back, then dips his forehead to mine. “Are you going to listen?”

“No.”