Chapter 11 - Wristwatch Ticking Past Midnight
I woke because the sconces were still on in the hall.
It was past one. The house had gone quiet in that way it only did after staff left, no ice shifting in the kitchen, no heels on wood. I had fallen asleep on top of the covers with my dress still zipped. When I sat up, the light under our door was a thin warm line, and through it I could hear him pacing.
I opened the door slow.
Alexander was at the far end of the hallway, by Sofia's door. He'd taken off his tie and jacket, sleeves rolled to the elbow, white shirt untucked on one side. His watch caught the light every time he turned. He walked three steps one way, three steps back, stopped, listened at her door, then started again.
He didn't hear me at first.
I stood there and watched him do it twice more. Check, turn, check. His hand hovered over the knob but didn't open it. He pressed his forehead close to the wood instead, like he could hear her breathe through it.
"Alexander," I said.
He turned fast. For a second his face wasn't angry. It was scared.
"You'll wake her," he whispered.
I stepped into the hall and pulled the door almost shut behind me. The runner was soft under my bare feet. The wall sconces buzzed faintly, that tungsten hum that made everything look yellow.
"I couldn't sleep," I said.
He nodded toward Sofia's door. "Go back to bed."
"I saw you," I said. "You're guarding her."
He didn't deny it. He leaned his shoulder against the paneling and folded his arms, eyes on the floor. The watch ticked loud in the quiet. I had never noticed how loud it was before.
"I do this when I can't shut it off," he said finally.
I moved closer but stopped a few feet away. I didn't want him to feel cornered. "How long have you been out here?"
"Since midnight." He glanced at the watch. "Maybe longer."
We stood there. From inside Sofia's room came a small sound, sheets moving, then stillness. His whole body tracked it. His fingers tightened around his own arm.
That was the routine. Listen, pace, check the time, listen again. Not control for show. Fear with nowhere to put itself.
"Talk to me," I said.
He shook his head. "Veronica."
"Please. I'm not asking to fight."
He let out a breath through his nose and slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor across from her door, knees up. I had never seen him sit on a hallway floor in the ten years I'd known him. I sat down too, my back against the opposite wall, dress pooling around my legs. The wood was cold through the fabric.
For a while neither of us spoke. The sconce above us threw our shadows long.
"That old house," he said. "It's not just some property."
I waited.
"It was my grandfather's. Then my dad's. We stopped using it after —" He stopped, rubbed his thumb over the face of his watch. "Elena lived next door when we were kids. Summers. Her family took care of the grounds."
I kept my voice low. "You knew her that well?"
"I knew her enough to know not to trust her with a key." He looked up at me. "My dad gave her mother a spare once. To air the place out. After my dad died, Elena kept saying things belonged to her. Small things first. A mirror. Papers."
My stomach tightened. Elena hadn't told me that part in the parking lot. She'd only talked about warnings, about keeping Sofia away from the house.
"What papers?" I asked.
"Deeds. Letters. Stuff that would let her claim access." His jaw worked. "We changed the locks. I told the lawyer no one goes in without me. Then you —" He cut himself off.
"Then I talked to her," I finished for him.
He nodded once, eyes back on Sofia's door.
I thought about his hand near my plate that night at dinner, how I'd read it as possession. Now I saw it differently. He'd been trying to keep his hand in reach of both of us.
"Why didn't you tell me any of this?" I asked. "Before I ever ran into her?"
"Because I thought if I didn't name it, it would stay buried." He laughed, short and tired. "And because you liked her. That day at the benefit, you said she seemed lonely. I didn't want to sound —" He searched for the word. "Crazy. Controlling."
The hall felt narrower. I remembered the message still on my phone, the second meeting Elena wanted. Guilt sat heavy behind my ribs. I had held that alone for days.
"I ignored a warning," I said quietly. "Didn't I? You warned me without telling me what it was."
He didn't answer right away. The watch ticked between us.
"Two years ago she showed up here," he said. "Sofia was two. Elena asked to hold her. I said no. She cried in the driveway. Your mom was here, remember? She said I was harsh."
I remembered. I hadn't understood then why his hands shook after.
"I wasn't protecting property that day," he said. "I was protecting her."
I looked at Sofia's closed door, the light bow she insisted on even for sleep sitting on the nightstand inside, probably. My throat burned.
"I thought you were mad at me for embarrassing you," I said. "For going behind your back."
"I was mad because you opened a door I spent years trying to keep shut," he said. "And I didn't know how to tell you without scaring you."
He stood then, knees cracking, and went back to his spot by her door. Listened. Three seconds. Four. He closed his eyes when her breathing came through, faint and even.
I stood too. I didn't touch him. I stood beside him and listened with him, my own breathing slowing to match hers through the wood.
"I understand now," I said. "A little."
He kept his eyes on the door. "Get some sleep. I'll stay."
I wanted to argue, to say we could stay together. But his routine didn't have room for me yet. It only had room for her.
May you like
I went back toward our room. At the doorway I turned. He had resumed pacing, three steps, turn, the watch flashing each time, his gaze never leaving that stretch of hallway.
He wasn't guarding against me. He was guarding because once, he hadn't guarded enough, and he was still paying for it.
