Chapter 4
Eleanor POV
I woke to an empty bed, the sheets beside me cold. My hand reached out, searching for Derek's warmth, but found only rumpled bedding. The memories of last night flooded back—his arm pulling me close, his hand on my breast, my body's embarrassing response to his touch.
Had it all been a dream? No, the faint scent of his cologne lingering on the pillow confirmed it had been real.
I sat up slowly, wondering if Derek had regretted the moment of intimacy. It wouldn't be surprising; he'd made it clear enough how he felt about our marriage. Three years of obligation, nothing more.
With less than two months left on our contract, any physical attraction between us was irrelevant—a mere biological response that meant nothing.
Throwing back the covers, I slipped into my robe and ran a hand through my tangled hair. The apartment was quiet, but not empty. I could feel Derek's presence, a subtle shift in the air that had been absent during his two years in London.
I padded barefoot down the hallway, following the faint sound of typing. Derek sat at the dining table, his attention fixed on his laptop screen. The sight of him—so at home yet so foreign in our shared space—sent an ache through my chest.
"Good morning," I said softly.
Derek glanced up briefly before returning his gaze to the screen. "Morning."
"You're up early," I ventured, trying to sound casual despite the awkwardness between us. "Would you like some coffee?"
"Already made some."
Sure enough, the coffee pot was half empty. I poured myself a cup, noticing that Derek had used the French press I'd bought during his absence—a small luxury I'd allowed myself with the money from my growing business.
"Where's Mrs. Hughes?" Derek asked suddenly. "She usually has breakfast prepared by now."
I froze mid-sip. "I let her go," I replied, keeping my voice even. "About one month ago."
Derek finally looked up from his screen, his expression incredulous. "You fired our housekeeper? Without consulting me?"
"You weren't here to consult," I pointed out, surprising myself with my directness. "And yes, I let her go. I've been managing the apartment myself since then."
Derek's jaw tightened. "Mrs. Hughes has worked for my family for years. My mother won't be pleased."
"I'm aware," I said, moving to the refrigerator. "Would you like some breakfast? I can make French toast."
Derek looked like he wanted to say more about Mrs. Hughes, but instead nodded curtly. "Fine."
I busied myself with breakfast preparation, cracking eggs into a bowl and adding cinnamon and vanilla—small touches that transformed basic French toast into something special. As I dipped bread slices into the mixture, I felt Derek's eyes on me.
"Why did you fire Mrs. Hughes?" he asked after a moment.
I focused on placing the bread in the hot pan, watching it sizzle. "She wasn't a good fit."
"She was a perfect fit for two generations of Wells family members," Derek countered.
I flipped the toast, perhaps with more force than necessary. "Well, she wasn't a good fit for me."
When I set the plate in front of Derek a few minutes later, he frowned at the simple breakfast. "This is it? Just French toast?"
Something in me snapped. "You can like it or lump it."
The words left my mouth before I could stop them—his own phrase from last night thrown back at him. I froze, shocked at my own audacity. Derek looked equally surprised, his fork suspended midway to his mouth.
I waited for his sharp retort, but it never came. Instead, he simply cut into the toast and took a bite, his expression unreadable.
A small rustling sound from behind the sofa broke the tense silence. Derek's head snapped up. "What was that?"
Before I could answer, a small golden retriever puppy scampered into view, its paws skidding slightly on the hardwood floor as it bounded toward me with unbridled enthusiasm.
"What the hell?" Derek set down his fork with a clatter. "Where did that come from?"
I bent to pick up the puppy, who immediately tried to lick my face. I laughed as his little pink tongue darted across my cheek. "This is Sunny," I said, unable to keep the defensiveness from my voice. "I found him last week."
I sat on the floor, letting Sunny climb onto my lap. He rolled over, exposing his belly for rubs, his tail thumping against the hardwood floor in pure joy. I couldn't help but smile as I scratched his soft fur, his little paws batting playfully at my hands.
Derek's expression darkened as he watched our interaction. "Found him where, exactly?"
"Outside my flower shop on Newbury Street," I explained, still petting the excited puppy. "It was pouring rain, and he was huddled in the doorway, completely soaked and shivering. I couldn't just leave him there."
"So you brought a stray dog into our home?" Derek's voice was cold. "There are animal shelters all over Boston for situations like this."
"He's not a stray anymore," I replied firmly, letting Sunny playfully nibble at my fingers. "I've already taken him to the vet. He's had all his vaccinations and a full health check."
Derek sneezed suddenly, his expression morphing from annoyance to alarm. "I'm allergic to dogs. You know that."
"You're mildly allergic," I corrected. "And you're hardly ever here anyway." The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them. Reminding Derek of his absence wasn't going to help my case.
"That's not the point," he said, standing up from the table. "You can't just make unilateral decisions about bringing animals into our home."
"Our home?" I repeated, setting the puppy down. "This hasn't felt like our home in a very long time, Derek. It's been my home, where I live alone while you're in London doing whatever—or whoever—you please."
Derek's eyes flashed. "Don't be crass, Eleanor. It doesn't suit you."
"And don't pretend you care about what happens in this apartment when you've been gone for two years," I shot back. "Sunny stays. As long as I'm living here, he stays too."
Derek stepped closer, his height forcing me to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. "Are you issuing ultimatums now? That's new."
"No," I said quietly. "I'm simply setting boundaries. Something I should have done a long time ago."
For a moment, neither of us spoke. Sunny whined softly at my feet, sensing the tension. Finally, Derek stepped back, adjusting his tie.
"I need to get to my meeting," he said, his voice controlled. "We'll discuss this later."
"There's nothing to discuss," I replied, bending to pick up Sunny again.
Derek gathered his laptop and briefcase. "While I was in London, you've changed quite a bit, Eleanor. I'm not sure I like it."
I straightened my spine. "And do you think I care or not?" I asked, one eyebrow raised in challenge.
Derek stared at me for a moment, his expression unreadable, before he turned toward the door without responding.
I followed with Sunny in my arms, intending to take him for a morning walk after Derek left. I set the puppy down to slip into my shoes, bending over to fasten the small buckles on my flats.
When I straightened, I caught Derek staring at me, his gaze traveling up the length of my body with unmistakable interest. The moment our eyes met, he quickly looked away, hastily reaching for the doorknob.
As the door closed behind him, I couldn't suppress a soft laugh. I'd caught that look—the one he always tried to hide.
I'd known it from the beginning: Derek Wells might be able to resist my heart, but he could never fully resist my body. That small victory, at least, was mine to savor.