When Anton said nothing, she looked away, closed her eyes, and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m sorry. I apologize.”

“For what?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe for sounding like an unhappy housewife. But I’m not unhappy. I swear.”

He sat forward slightly. “But something’s wrong.”

She thought about that for a moment. “Maybe. I suppose I always thought I would do something amazing with my life. I thought it would be motherhood, but it’s starting to feel like all I ever do is support my husband’s dreams.”

“There’s nothing wrong with supporting your husband’s dreams,” Anton replied. “It’s a good thing, if you ask me, but it has to go both ways. He needs to support your dreams too. That’s where most couples run into trouble, I think. I speak from experience.”

She leaned back on the sofa and looked up at the ceiling. “I realize that marriage takes work, but lately I’ve been feeling very alone, even when we’re in the same room together. I’m not sure if we’re on the same page about things, and I’m starting to wonder if I might have made a mistake when I married him.”

God . . . oh God. Had she really just said that? She’d never said anything like that to anyone before. She’d never even admitted it to herself.

“I was pregnant,” she confessed. “But then I lost the baby, not long after we were married.”

Anton sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Lillian sat forward as well. “Thank you. It took me a while to get over it and feel ready to try again, but now I’m starting to wonder if Freddie will ever be ready. He keeps saying he wants to finish his book first, but I have a feeling what he really wants is the freedom to write, and he doesn’t want the distraction of having a child to look after, while that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“Have you talked to him about it?”

“Yes, but it’s not easy. I can’t force him to make a baby with me if he’s not ready or doesn’t want it.” She shook her head at herself. “I think losing the baby was hard for him. Harder than he realizes. He doesn’t handle loss well because his mother walked out on him when he was little. Maybe there’s a part of him that’s afraid he’ll lose me to the child . . . that my focus won’t be on him anymore.”

“It’s not your job to be a mother figure to him,” Anton said.

Lillian lowered her gaze. “I know.” Then she covered her face with her hands. “What is wrong with me? I can’t believe I’m telling you all this. You’re my boss.”

“It’s fine,” he replied, nonplussed. “Maybe I can help somehow.”

She lowered her hands to her lap and found herself laughing. “Anton. How could you possibly help?”

He chuckled as well and sat back. “I don’t know. That was a ridiculous thing to say.”

There was something about the tone of his response that caused a fluttering in her belly. “Actually, no, it wasn’t ridiculous. It helps that you’re listening. Thank you.” For a long, easy moment, they sat in silence, while she continued to reflect upon her relationship with Freddie. “I think part of the problem is that I’ve always been inclined to put his needs before my own. I have this inherent compulsion to do everything in my power to make sure that he’s happy. So I’m the one who supports us financially so that he can pursue his dream. I don’t turn off the light at night until he’s ready to go to sleep. And I’m the one who waits for him to want to have a baby. My being ready isn’t part of the equation.”

“You’re very generous,” Anton said. “Is he generous as well? Does he ever put your needs first?”

She met Anton’s gaze directly. “I honestly can’t remember a time when that happened.”

Anton stood up and crossed the room to sit beside her on the sofa. “I’ve often thought that a marriage is like a covered wagon, full of the stuff of life. The man and the woman are the two workhorses who pull it. Eventually, it gets heavy. There are children in the wagon, a home that needs to be maintained, feelings that need to be protected and nurtured when life throws curveballs. It works when both partners pull together, but the journey can’t continue for long if one partner unbuckles the straps and decides to ride in the wagon, because it’s easier, and because he knows his partner will keep pulling no matter what. Sometimes it can’t be helped. If someone gets sick or is suffering in some other way . . . physically or emotionally or financially . . . when that happens, the other person needs to bear more of the load, but generally, when both partners are capable, husband and wife should be a team, pulling together, or at least taking equal turns.”

Lillian reclined on the sofa and closed her eyes. “That’s exactly what it’s been like. In five years, I’ve never once gotten out of the harness.”

“What about Freddie?”

“He’s been riding in the wagon the whole time, and quite frankly, I’m getting a little tired.” She glanced upward. “He’s always consumed by his book, or so he says, and promising he’ll do his part later. But later never comes. It’s always tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow.”

Anton reached for her hand and gently squeezed it. “Are you afraid to push for what you want?”

She stared down at their clasped hands. “Afraid? Of Freddie? Goodness, no. I was attracted to him because he was the opposite of my father, and I’d never been involved with someone who didn’t punch things when he got angry.”

“Not all men are like that,” Anton told her.

“I know. At least, I think I know. Do you ever punch things?”

He smiled to himself as he spoke. “I can’t pretend that I haven’t kicked a flat tire. Lord knows I curse. But I’ve never hit another person. Not even in the schoolyard when I was a kid.”

Her eyebrows rose in amazement. “That must be some kind of record.”

He chuckled. “Maybe. I was a math nerd.”

“I still find that so surprising,” she replied. “Math and art . . . it’s usually one or the other, or so I thought.”

A dog barked somewhere outside. The air was hot and humid, and they were still holding hands, perspiring in the heat.

“I enjoy talking to you,” Lillian said, her eyes downcast.

Anton sat back and stared at her with wonder. “I enjoy talking to you too. And that’s why . . . I should probably go.”

A part of her wanted to beg him to stay, but she knew what would happen if she did. The attraction she felt was palpable. If they sat there much longer, they would fall into each other’s arms. They would kiss, and desires would escalate.

He stood up, and she was glad. She followed to see him out.

“Thank you again for dinner,” she said.

He reached out and pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear, and his touch upset her balance. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

As soon as she closed the door behind him, she pressed both her hands to her flushed cheeks. Closing her eyes, she let her head fall back against the door.

“This can’t be happening,” she whispered with a rush of euphoria and a sense of excitement over what the future might hold. It was quickly followed by despair.