Darius studied her. “I don’t want a favor.” Vanessa looked almost offended.
“I do not give favors through payroll.” Her answer was immediate. “If we are underpaying you, that is a company failure.”
Darius nodded slowly. “Okay.” Vanessa held his gaze.
Something about the word hung there. Perhaps that was why he made the joke. Perhaps exhaustion simply removed the filter that usually caught foolish ideas before they reached his mouth.
He lifted his coffee. “If you’re going to keep me here until nine-thirty while reorganizing my career, you might as well marry me.” Vanessa’s eyebrows rose. “Save us both the commute.”
He grinned. “Fair warning, I can cook better than whoever stocked that refrigerator.” Silence followed.
Vanessa looked at him. Darius drank his coffee. Then she said, “Okay.”
He almost inhaled the drink. “Excuse me?” Vanessa repeated herself. “Okay.”
“That was a joke.” Vanessa stood. “I know.” Darius stared at her.
“Then why are you saying yes?” Vanessa seemed to ask herself the same question. Instead of answering, she extended her hand.
“Come with me.” Darius did not take it immediately. “Where?”
“Upstairs.” Darius glanced toward the front door. “This is becoming a very unusual paperwork delivery.”
Vanessa almost smiled. “Trust me.” Darius looked at her hand, then placed his own in it.
She led him out of the kitchen. They crossed a formal living room that looked untouched, passed a dining room set for nobody, then climbed a curved staircase. Darius kept expecting Vanessa to explain.
She did not. At the top, she turned left away from the primary bedroom. At the end of the hallway stood a closed door.
Every other door used a simple brushed-metal handle. This one had a small lock. Vanessa stopped in front of it.
Her hand shook when she reached into a nearby drawer. Darius noticed but said nothing. She removed a key.
“I haven’t opened this in months.” Her voice had lost all executive precision. Darius suddenly understood the invitation had nothing to do with his joke.
Vanessa inserted the key. She unlocked the door. Then she remained standing in the hallway.
Darius waited. Vanessa finally pushed it open. “Come in.”
The room was smaller than he expected. Compared with the vast spaces downstairs, it almost felt intimate. It was filled with photographs.
A younger Vanessa laughed beside a tall man wearing a linen shirt on a beach. Another photograph showed them dressed formally beneath strings of lights, her face turned toward him rather than toward the camera. There were pictures from vacations, family holidays, university graduations, and ordinary afternoons that no professional photographer would have thought worth preserving. Every picture showed a version of Vanessa Darius had never seen.
A reading chair stood in the corner. A hardcover novel rested on one arm with a faded bookmark still inserted halfway through. A navy sport coat hung behind the door.
On the desk sat a shallow wooden dish. Inside it lay a man’s wedding band. Darius stopped moving.
“His name was Adrian.” Vanessa’s voice came from behind him. “Adrian Hartwell.”