The breakfast table was long enough to fit a basketball team. Aria sat at one end. Xander sat at the other, dressed like a stock photo for Powerful CEOs Weekly.
He didn't look up when she walked in. Didn't even flinch when her chair scraped against the floor.
Was he always this cold? No—worse. He was emotionless. Like she wasn't even a presence in the room. Just part of the furniture.
She cleared her throat. "Good morning."
No response.
Okay, ice wall. Cool. She poured herself some tea, pretending not to notice how stiff her hands were.
"I was thinking…" she started, voice casual, "if I'm well enough, maybe I could go out today. Some fresh air might help."
That got him. His eyes lifted, dark and unreadable, before dropping back to his tablet.
"You can do what you want."
Her spoon clinked against the saucer a little too loudly.
"That's... generous of you," she said, a bit dryly.
"You're not a prisoner, Aria."
Well, that was debatable.
"And you're my wife. Not a guest."
He said it like it was a business arrangement. Which, in this world, it kind of was.
She leaned forward slightly, just enough to make him look up again. "Then maybe we should start acting like it."
His jaw ticked. Barely.
Victory.
She sipped her tea and stood. "I'll take that as a yes."
Let him think on that.