25 Lucas Bailey was not a man accustomed to waiting. As heir to the Bailey fortune and CEO of Bailey Enterprises, he was used to immediate results, to decisions made and Implemented with efficient precision. Patience had never been among his primary virtues. But for me, it seemed, he was willing to learn. In the weeks following his confession on the penthouse terrace, Lucas embarked on what could only be described as a careful, deliberate courtship-showing me through actions rather than words that his feelings were genuine, that the changes in him went deeper than mere convenience or circumstance. It began simply enough. After little Lucas and I moved back to my father's estate-a decision Lucas accepted with grace despite his obvious disappointment-he maintained the visitation schedule we'd established, neve pushing for more time than I was comfortable giving. But small differences emerged in how he approached those visits. Flowers would arrive on the mornings he was scheduled to pick up our son-not elaborate arrangements tha screamed expense and expectation, but thoughtful selections that spoke of attention to detail. Peonies in varying shades of pink, my longtime favorite. Wildflowers similar to those I'd sketched in my design notebook. Once, a simple bunch of daisies, reminiscent of the ones that had grown behind the science building at Westlake Prep, where we'd sometimes studied together. He never mentioned the flowers, never used them as leverage or expected gratitude. They simply appeared, a silent acknowledgment of memories shared and preferences noted. Then came the invitations-casual, pressure-free suggestions of activities we might enjoy as a family. A Saturday at the botanical gardens, where little Lucas could toddle freely through paths designed for exploration. A morning at the children's museum, where interactive exhibits captured our son's imagination while allowing Lucas and me to interact without the intensity of direct conversation. Each outing was carefully planned to focus on our child while creating space for us to rediscover each other as adults, as potential partners rather than just co-parents. And each ended the same way-Lucas walking us to the door, thanking me for the day, and leaving without pushing for more than I'd offered. 'He's persistent," my father observed one evening after Lucas had dropped off our sleeping son following a day at the zoo. "And strategic. I'll give him that." smiled despite myself. "He's trying to prove something." 'And is he succeeding?" My father raised an eyebrow, his expression knowing. shrugged, unwilling to admit how effectively Lucas's patient pursuit was wearing down my defenses. "We'll see." The truth was, I found myself looking forward to our outings, to the easy conversations that developed while our son explored his surroundings, to the comfortable silences that no longer felt loaded with unspoken ension. The Lucas who accompanied us on these family adventures was neither the distant husband of our arranged marriage nor the desperate man who had confronted me at the mall upon discovering his child. He was someone new-or perhaps someone who had been there all along, beneath layers of expectation and obligation that had finally been stripped away. Three weeks into this careful courtship, Lucas surprised me with an invitation that broke our established >attern. I was wondering," he said as he prepared to leave after returning our son from his weekend visit, "if you migh consider having dinner with me. Just the two of us." hesitated, the suggestion of a child-free evening together representing a significant shift in our carefully naintained boundaries. "I don't know, Lucas. Who would watch little Lucas?" Your father already offered," he admitted with a slightly sheepish smile. "I may have run the idea by him first.' Conspiring behind my back?" I asked, though there was no real irritation in my tone. Lucas shrugged, his expression open. "Getting approval from the important people in your life. Old-fashioned, naybe, but it seemed right." he gesture-so contrary to the modern, independent approach that had characterized our previous elationship-touched me unexpectedly. This wasn't about control or patriarchal permission, but about espect for the family structure we'd established, for the protective circle that had formed around our son anc ›y extension, me. Alright," I found myself agreeing. "Dinner. But nothing fancy or formal." 'he relief and pleasure that transformed his features made him look younger, more like the boy I'd first fallen or in high school. "Perfect. How about Friday? Seven o'clock?" nodded, already second-guessing my decision but unable to retract it in the face of his evident joy. "Friday it s." When Friday arrived, I spent an embarrassing amount of time deciding what to wear-cycling through options vith the indecision of a teenager preparing for a first date rather than a grown woman having dinner with the ather of her child. I finally settled on a simple wrap dress in deep emerald, sophisticated but not overly ormal, paired with the pearl earrings that had become something of a talisman. .ucas arrived precisely at seven, casually elegant in dark jeans and a charcoal sweater that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. He'd brought no flowers this time, no traditional date trappings, just a warmth in his eyes that made my pulse quicken despite my best intentions. You look beautiful," he said, the simple compliment delivered with such sincerity that I felt heat rise to my Chapter 35 The Pursuit Begeis cheeks. "Thank you," I replied, accepting my coat from his hands. "Where are we going?" "It's a surprise," he said with a small smile. "But I promise It's not fancy or formal." The drive was companionable, conversation flowing easily around neutral topics-updates on the Henderson hotel project, developments at Bailey Enterprises, little Lucas's latest linguistic adventures. It wasn't until Lucas parked in a familiar neighborhood that I realized where we were headed. "Bellini's?" I asked, surprised to find ourselves outside the modest Italian restaurant where we'd first encountered Phoebe during our marriage. Lucas nodded, watching my reaction carefully. "Is that okay? I thought... well, I thought we might replace some difficult memories with better ones." The thoughtfulness of the gesture-acknowledging our complicated past rather than pretending it didn't exis -struck me deeply. This wasn't an attempt to erase history, but to transform it, to demonstrate growth through revisiting places that had once been painful. "It's perfect," I said honestly. Inside, Bellini's was exactly as I remembered-checkered tablecloths, candles in wax-covered Chianti bottles the scent of garlic and tomato sauce permeating the air. But Phoebe was long gone, now running her own successful design studio, and the ghosts of our past seemed less substantial than I'd feared. Lucas had reserved a quiet corner table, away from the main bustle of the restaurant. As we settled in, he seemed almost nervous-a state I'd rarely seen in the typically confident Lucas Bailey. "I used to come here in high school," he said as we studied the menus. "Did you know that?" I shook my head. "Before my time at Westlake, I think." "My grandfather would bring me after basketball games. Win or lose, we'd come for pizza and he'd break down my performance-what I'd done well, where I needed to improve." Lucas smiled at the memory. "It was the only time he ever really relaxed, when we were here. The only time I felt like I was just his grandson, not the Bailey heir." The personal anecdote, offered without prompting, revealed a side of Lucas I'd rarely glimpsed during our marriage-the boy beneath the polished exterior, shaped by expectations and family legacy. "Is that why you used to bring Phoebe here?" I asked, the question emerging before I could censor it. "Because it felt separate from the Bailey world?" Instead of tension or defensiveness, Lucas's expression showed only thoughtful consideration. "I never made that connection, but you might be right. It was one of the few places in Northbrook that felt like it belonged to me, not to the Bailey name." He met my gaze directly. "But that's not why I brought you here tonight." "Why did you, then?" "Because I wanted to show you that I'm not afraid of our history anymore-the good or the bad. That I can face the mistakes I've made, the people I've hurt, without hiding or making excuses." The simple honesty of his answer disarmed me completely. This was not the Lucas who had once kept his feelings carefully contained, who had maintained emotional distance even in intimacy. This was a man who had learned the value of vulnerability, who understood that real connection required courage. "I like this version of you," I admitted softly. "The one who says what he means, who doesn't hide behind the Bailey name or reputation." Lucas's smile warmed his entire face. "I like this version of me too. Took me long enough to find him, though. Dinner progressed with surprising ease, conversation flowing naturally between topics serious and light. Lucas shared stories from his childhood I'd never heard during our marriage-the time he'd broken his arm climbing the oak tree behind the Bailey Estate, the summer he'd spent learning to sail with his grandfather, th science fair project that had gone spectacularly wrong and nearly set the school on fire. In return, I found myself opening up about my own past-memories of my mother before her illness, the adjustment to living with my father after years of separation, the design teacher in college who had first recognized my talent and pushed me to pursue it professionally. "I wish I'd known all this before," Lucas said as we shared tiramisu for dessert. "During our marriage, I mean. I never asked enough questions, never really tried to understand who you were beyond the surface." "We were both playing roles back then," I reminded him. "The dutiful Bailey wife, the ambitious heir. Neither of us was being completely honest." "But you knew me better than I knew myself," he countered. "You saw past the role to the person underneath. never gave you the same courtesy." The acknowledgment-so simple yet so profound-of the imbalance that had characterized our relationship touched me deeply. This wasn't just Lucas apologizing for past behavior, but demonstrating genuine understanding of where things had gone wrong. After dinner, instead of suggesting we return home, Lucas asked if I'd be willing to take a short walk. The evening was mild, stars visible despite the city lights, and I found myself agreeing without hesitation. He led me to a small park a few blocks from the restaurant-a place I'd passed many times but never visited. As we walked along the winding paths, he pointed out a particular bench overlooking a small pond. "I used to come here to think," he explained. "During college breaks, when the pressure of the Bailey expectations got too intense. Sometimes I'd sit for hours, just watching the water and trying to figure out who I was apart from what everyone expected me to be." Chapter 35 The Psult Begyn He guided me to the bench, both of us sitting in the peaceful quiet of the evening. "The last time I was here was the night before our divorce," he continued. "I sat right here, trying to convince myself I was doing the right thing by letting you go, that it was what you wanted." I turned to look at him, finding his profile illuminated by the soft glow of the park lights. "And now?" "Now I know it was the biggest mistake of my life," he said simply. "Not because of our son, though he's the greatest gift I never deserved. But because I let go of someone who saw me-really saw me-when I couldn't even see myself." The raw honesty in his voice, the complete absence of artifice or calculation, made it impossible to maintain the emotional distance I'd so carefully cultivated. This was Lucas stripped bare of pretense, of the armor he'd worn for so long. "I'm trying to see you now," I said softly. "The real you, not just who I thought you were or wanted you to be." He smiled, the expression reaching his eyes. "That's all I'm asking for. The chance to show you who I really am, who we could be together if we both stop playing roles and start being honest." As we walked back to the car, his hand found mine in the darkness-not presumptuous or possessive, but a simple connection, an invitation I found myself accepting without resistance. His fingers were warm against mine, the casual intimacy of the gesture more affecting than any grand romantic overture could have been. When he drove me home, walking me to the door with old-fashioned courtesy, I found myself reluctant for the evening to end. Something had shifted between us-not just the careful dance of co-parents negotiating boundaries, but something deeper, more genuine. "Thank you for tonight," Lucas said, maintaining a respectful distance despite the current that seemed to hum between us. "For giving me the chance to start replacing old memories with better ones." "I enjoyed it," I admitted, the simple truth easier to speak than I'd anticipated. "More than I expected to." His smile in response was warm, lacking the triumph such an admission might once have elicited. "That's enough for me. For now." As he turned to leave, I found myself calling after him. "Lucas?" He paused, looking back with a question in his eyes. "Next time," I said, the words surprising me even as I spoke them, "maybe we could go to the art museum. They have a new exhibition I've been wanting to see." The joy that transformed his features was worth any risk the invitation might represent. "I'd like that," he said simply. "Very much." Watching him walk to his car, I realized with startling clarity that the walls I'd built to protect myself from Lucas Bailey were crumbling-not because he was battering against them with demands or grand gestures, but because he was patiently, persistently showing me a version of himself that made those walls unnecessary. A version I could perhaps, cautiously, allow myself to fall in love with. Not for the first time, but with open eye and equal footing, as the adults we had finally become.