Chapter Ten

With the weight ofAlbert's gaze upon her, Izzy turned, meeting eyes that seemed to search her soul.

"Isabelle," he began, his voice laced with confusion, "what is this I hear about...a baby?"

For a moment, time stood still, and Izzy stared at him, bewildered. How had he found out?

She drew a ragged breath, her eyes not leaving his. "Yes, Albert," she confessed, "I'm expecting."

He stepped back as if struck, his hand reaching out as though to grasp something that was no longer there.

"Why, Izzy?" he asked, the hurt evident in his voice. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Izzy's throat tightened, and she fought back the moisture threatening to spill from her eyes. "I needed to know," she said, "how you truly felt about me, Albert. Before I added another life into the equation of our...arrangement."

"Izzy," he said, his voice low and edged with disbelief, "how could you ever doubt my feelings for you?"

She didn't know how to respond to that. How could she not doubt his feelings for her? He'd never told her how he felt. Was she supposed to simply know?

"Your words," she said, "they were not the same as...as your touch, Albert. At night—" She faltered, her resolve crumbling beneath the pressure of his scrutiny.

He drew in a sharp breath, the sound harsh in the stillness. "Words," he asked. "What use are words when every day I've built a life around you? Can't you see it, Izzy? Everything I do...it is all for us."

"Us?" she asked. It seemed so strange that he spoke as if they were in love when she knew he didn't feel that way about her. If he did, why hadn't he told her?

"Us," he said.

For a moment, neither moved, the distance between them stretching into an impassable chasm. Then, without another word, Albert turned on his heel.

The door closed behind him with a finality that echoed through the empty room. Izzy stood motionless, watching the space where he had been, her heart aching with a sense of loss she couldn't name.

Albert walked, each step carrying him further from home. His gaze roamed listlessly until it was caught by a familiar sight—a rough-hewn wooden swing hanging from the stout arm of an old oak tree at the edge of town. He had once spent an afternoon with Izzy, picnicking near the swing and he had pushed her on it, entranced by her laughter, a sound he hadn't heard nearly enough.

He collapsed onto it, the ropes groaning under his weight. His eyes traced the empty spaces between the stars, seeking answers in their silent judgment. Time stretched taut around him, minutes bleeding into hours.

There, in the stillness, Albert grappled with the truth of his failings. The stark reality was that although his heart had been full, his actions had been empty. He could see where he was at fault, and he despised himself for it.

"Damn," he muttered. "Damn my silence."

Izzy pushed a morsel of food around her plate, her appetite as absent as the man whose chair sat vacant across from her.

Her thoughts churned as she wondered where Albert had gone and if and when he would be home. She nibbled on a piece of bread, the dry crust scraping against her throat with each forced swallow.

The creak of the front door broke the silence, announcing Albert's return. Izzy bowed her head for a moment, caught between relief and dread. She rose from the table as she braced herself for his reaction.

"Albert," she began, her voice barely above a whisper, "I'm—I'm sorry." She searched his face for any sign of warmth, but there was none to be seen.

"Every night," she continued, her words tumbling out in an anxious rush, "you come to me, and I feel...wanted. But during the day, it's like you're a different person. It's as if I don't exist until the shadows fall again." Her hands twisted the fabric of her skirt, seeking solace in the tactile distraction from the pain that constricted her chest.

"Is that all I am to you, Albert? A convenient arrangement for the nights?" The question hung between them, heavy and accusing.

His eyes finally met hers, and in them, she saw a glimmer of the conflict that raged within him. "I—," he started, then stopped, as if the words were foreign on his tongue.

"Isabelle," he began, his voice a low rumble of emotion. "I have loved you from the very moment I laid eyes upon you."

She looked up at him, her eyes wide. The confession was a soft blow, disarming and raw. She had been a stranger to him, a name on a paper, a solution to the empty space beside him at the table, in the bed, in his life. But love?

"Love?" Her voice was a whisper.

"Yes, love. I never intended for us to be...more than what was necessary. A physical relationship wasn't part of the plan with my mail-order bride."

"Albert," she replied, the strength in her voice surprising her, "I have loved you since the first week we were married."

His reaction was immediate, the tension in his shoulders softening. "Truly?" he asked.

"Truly," she said, walking slowly toward him at first and gaining speed until she was in front of him.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. When his lips found hers, she knew that he'd told her the truth. It was in his kiss. All of the love she'd ever dreamed of feeling was right there in his kiss.