Elise slept in a separate bedroom. That was the third rule, and for the first three nights, Adrian followed it with an almost infuriating precision.
They had breakfast at seven, according to a schedule someone had created without asking for her approval. Elise sat on the left side of the long table, Adrian on the right. Between them stood a vase of white flowers, too tall to let either of them see the other comfortably.
Elise moved the vase.
Thomas, who was pouring coffee, paused.
“Better,” Elise said.
Adrian glanced at the vase. “Those are my mother’s favorite flowers.”
“Now they’re blocking the view.”
“Go ahead.”
Elise liked that answer more than she should have.
They didn’t talk much. Adrian read reports on his tablet. Elise opened a piece of toast, spread it with a thin layer of butter, then read the last page of a novel before returning to the first.
She only realized Adrian was watching her when he said, “You’ve read that book before.”
“A few times.”
“You still read the ending first.”
“That’s how I make sure a book is worth reading.”
“By finding out what happens?”
“By finding out whether the author deserves to be trusted.”
Adrian lowered his tablet. “And do I deserve to be trusted?”
Elise looked at him. “I haven’t reached the last page yet.”
The corner of Adrian’s mouth twitched, but the smile never fully formed.
Their days moved along like two parallel train tracks. They met at the dining table, at public events, and sometimes in the mansion’s long hallways. They didn’t touch each other’s private lives. Elise didn’t ask about Adrian’s previous relationships. Adrian didn’t ask why Elise always checked the door lock twice before going to sleep.
They lived close to each other without trying to become close.
It should have been easy.
But on the fourth night, Elise woke from a nightmare.
She was in a station soaked by rain. The loudspeaker crackled. Someone was shouting from the far end of the platform. Elise was holding a broken umbrella, but no train came.
A young man stood in front of her.
His face was blurred.
“Don’t go,” he said.
Elise stepped back. “Who are you?”
The young man reached out his hand.
Then white light flashed. Brakes screeched. She woke with her breath knocked out of her.
The room was dark. Her heart was beating too fast. She tried to reach for the lamp beside the bed, but her hand was trembling.
The door opened.
Adrian stood there.
Elise pressed her back against the headboard. “What are you doing?”
“I heard you scream.”
“I didn’t call for you.”
“I know.”
He didn’t come any farther inside. He remained by the door, leaving enough distance that Elise wouldn’t feel trapped.
“Get out,” Elise said.
Adrian wasn’t offended. “All right.”
He turned.
“Wait.”
The word escaped before Elise could take it back.
Adrian stopped.
Elise stared at the floor. “I just… don’t want to be alone yet.”
Adrian nodded. He took a chair from near the window and placed it beside the bed, not too close.
Then he sat down.
There were no questions about the dream. No attempt to touch her. Adrian simply stayed there, silent, as though he had done this many times before.
Elise turned on the small lamp.
“How did you know I don’t like bright lights?”
“Because you always turn off the main lights when you enter a room.”
“Since when have you been watching me?”
“Since you moved here.”
The answer made sense. But his tone didn’t.
Elise closed her eyes, trying to fall asleep again. She could hear the rain outside the window. After a few minutes, she asked, “Have you ever had the same dream over and over?”
“Yes.”
“And what do you do?”
“Wait until the dream changes.”
“Has it worked?”
“No.”
Elise opened her eyes. Adrian was still sitting there with his arms folded. He looked more tired than usual.
“What is your dream like?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“That means it matters.”
“According to the second rule, you’re not allowed to touch my private life.”
“This isn’t touching it. It’s just a question.”
“Sometimes questions are more invasive than touch.”
Elise gave a small snort. “Do you always have an answer for everything?”
“No.”
“For example?”
Adrian looked at her. “I don’t know when you’ll remember me.”
The air in the room changed.
Elise sat up straight. “What?”
Adrian had spoken too softly, but there was no chance she had misheard him.
He stood.
“Go to sleep.”
“Adrian.”
He stopped in the doorway.
“Who are you?”
Adrian turned slightly. Lamplight fell across the side of his face, hiding his eyes.
“Your husband,” he said.
Then he left before Elise could ask anything else.
The next morning, he was once again the calm, unreadable man. He read reports at the breakfast table, answered phone calls, and didn’t mention their conversation from the night before.
Neither did Elise.
But when she found an old umbrella inside Adrian’s car that afternoon, she no longer considered it a coincidence.
One of the umbrella’s ribs was bent.
And two tiny letters were engraved on its handle:
A.B.