Chapter 8: Deepening Relationship "Absolutely not," I said, setting my teacup down with more force than intended. "That's out of the question." Across the table, Margaret Bailey-Lucas's grandmother and the formidable matriarch of the Bailey family-raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. Her silver hair was swept into an elegant chignon, and despite being well into her seventies, her posture remained ramrod straight. "My dear," she said, her patrician voice cool, "I don't believe I was asking." We were having afternoon tea in the solarium of the Bailey Estate, surrounded by exotic plants and antique furniture that had been in the family for generations. Lucas was meeting with his grandfather in the study, leaving me to Margaret's tender mercies. "With all due respect, Margaret," I said, trying to keep my voice steady, "our sleeping arrangements are a private matter between my husband and me." Margaret set her own cup down with practiced precision. "Not when they become the subject of gossip among the household staff." She leaned forward slightly. "Do you have any idea what people are saying? That Lucas sleeps in a separate bedroom. That your marriage is a sham." I felt heat rise in my cheeks. "Since when do the Baileys care about gossip?" "Since always, my dear." She smiled thinly. "This family has maintained its position through careful management of both business and reputation. William and I didn't arrange this marriage so that our grandson could become a laughingstock." "We're just... taking things slowly," I offered weakly. Margaret's eyes narrowed. "You've been married for eight months, Autumn. That's slow even by the most conservative standards." She took a delicate sip of her tea. "How can you be so clueless? Lucas is young, and you've been married for so long. If his grandfather or those uncles and cousins find out, it'll cause an uproar." She set her cup down decisively. "And besides, it's about time you two had a child." I opened my mouth to protest but couldn't find the words. A child? With a man who was planning to divorce me in less than a year and a half? "William and I will be visiting the penthouse next weekend," Margaret continued, as if the matter was settled. "I trust the... situation... will be resolved by then." That evening, I returned to the penthouse to find a delivery from the Bailey Estate-several elegant boxes containing herbal tonics and supplements with names like "Fertility Boost" and "Virility Enhancement." There was also an older woman named Mrs. Jenkins, who announced she was our new housekeeper, sent by "Madam Bailey" to "take care of our daily needs." I was still staring at the packages in dismay when Lucas arrived home. "What's all this?" he asked, loosening his tie. "A gift from your grandmother," I said dryly. "Along with Mrs. Jenkins over there, who's apparently our new housekeeper." Lucas glanced at the older woman, who was already busying herself in the kitchen, then back at the boxes. His eyes widened slightly as he read the labels. "Christ," he muttered. "She doesn't waste time, does she?" I crossed my arms. "She also mentioned that they'll be visiting next weekend and expect to see us properly... cohabitating." Lucas ran a hand through his hair, a gesture I'd come to recognize as a sign of stress. "I'll talk to her, tell her to back off." "Will that work?" He sighed. "Probably not." He glanced toward Mrs. Jenkins again, then took my elbow, guiding me toward his office where we couldn't be overheard. "What do you want to do?" The question caught me off guard. In the months we'd been married, Lucas had rarely asked for my opinion on anything related to his family. "I thought you'd just tell me what we're going to do," I admitted. His mouth quirked in a half-smile. "I'm not that much of an asshole, am I?" I didn't answer, which made his smile fade. "Look," he said, lowering his voice, "we could pretend to go along with it. Move some of your things into my room for when they visit, then move them back after." "And Mrs. Jenkins? She'll be reporting back to your grandmother, I'm sure." Lucas considered this. "We could let her go." "And have your grandmother send someone else? Or worse, come stay herself to 'help'?" He winced. "Good point." He was quiet for a moment, thinking. "I guess... I guess we could actually share the room. Temporarily." My heart skipped a beat. "Share your room?" "It makes the most sense," he reasoned. "My bedroom's bigger, has its own bathroom. We can keep up appearances without... you know." Without actually being a real couple, he meant. Without touching, without consummating a marriage that was never meant to last. I swallowed hard. "Okay." Lucas looked surprised at my easy acquiescence. "Really?" "Unless you have a better idea?" When he didn't respond, I nodded. "That's what I thought. It's fine, Lucas. We're adults. We can share a room without it being a big deal." That night, I moved my essentials into Lucas's master suite. His bedroom was like him-elegant, understated, with clean lines and a monochromatic color scheme. The king-sized bed dominated the space, with its dark wood frame and crisp white linens. Lucas insisted I take the side closer to the bathroom. "I get up earlier anyway," he explained, as if this practical consideration would somehow make the situation less awkward. That first night, we moved around each other carefully, a choreographed dance of avoidance. I changed in the bathroom, emerging in silk pajama shorts and a matching camisole. Lucas was already in bed, wearing a t-shirt and pajama pants, his back propped against the headboard as he read through some papers. He glanced up when I entered, his eyes skimming over me briefly before returning to his work. "All set?" I nodded, sliding under the covers on my side. Lucas had thoughtfully provided a separate duvet for me, eliminating the need to share. "Good night," I said, turning onto my side, facing away from him. "Night," he replied, his voice neutral. I lay there, hyperaware of his presence just inches away. The sound of pages turning. The occasional sigh. The subtle shift of his weight on the mattress. Eventually, I heard him set his papers aside and turn off his bedside lamp. The room plunged into darkness, broken only by the faint glow of the city lights filtering through the blinds. "Autumn?" His voice was low in the darkness. "Yes?" "Thank you. For... being understanding about all this." I closed my eyes. "It's fine. Goodnight, Lucas." Sleep came eventually, but it was restless. I was used to sprawling across my bed, moving freely in my sleep. Now, I was consciously trying to stay on my side, to not intrude on Lucas's space. Sometime in the night, I woke to find myself pressed against something warm and solid. My arm was draped over Lucas's chest, my face nestled against his shoulder. In sleep, I'd sought him out, crossing the careful boundary we'd established. I tried to move away without waking him, but his hand suddenly covered mine, keeping it in place on his chest. "It's okay," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. "Go back to sleep." Too tired to argue, I let myself drift off again, lulled by the steady beat of his heart beneath my palm. In the morning, we didn't mention it. Lucas was already up and in the shower when I woke, giving me time to retreat to my side of the bed and pretend nothing had happened. But it happened again the next night. And the next. Each time, I'd wake to find myself entangled with Lucas in some way-my head on his chest, my leg thrown over his, my hand resting on his stomach. And each time, he seemed less bothered by it, sometimes even adjusting his position to accommodate me more comfortably. One night, about a week after we began sharing a room, I was so deep in sleep that I didn't realize I'd moved until I felt something warm against my palm. My eyes flew open to find my hand had somehow made its way under Lucas's t-shirt, resting directly on the warm skin of his abdomen. Worse, in my sleep, I'd apparently been exploring-my fingers were tracing lazy patterns just above the waistband of his pajama pants. I froze, mortified, but before I could pull away, Lucas's hand caught mine. In the dim room, his eyes were open, watching me. The look in them wasn't anger or disgust, but something darker, more intense. He pinned my hand against his skin. "Stay still," he said, his voice rough with something I couldn't identify. I nodded blankly. "Oh." We stayed like that, neither moving, the air between us charged with unspoken tension. I could feel his heartbeat accelerating under my palm, the warmth of his skin seeping into mine. His breathing had changed, becoming slightly deeper, more controlled. After what felt like an eternity, he released my hand and turned away, putting his back to me. "Goodnight, Autumn," he said, his voice strained. I withdrew my hand slowly, my fingertips tingling from the contact. "Goodnight," I whispered. Neither of us mentioned the incident the next day, but something had shifted between us. A new awareness had entered our carefully constructed arrangement, an undercurrent of tension that hadn't been there before. When Lucas's grandparents visited that weekend, we played our parts perfectly-the happily married couple sharing a life and a bed. Margaret seemed satisfied with the arrangement, especially when she spotted my toiletries mingled with Lucas's in the master bathroom. After they left, I expected Lucas to suggest I move back to my room. He didn't. And I didn't offer. So we continued, night after night, navigating this new intimacy with unspoken rules. Separate blankets but increasingly intertwined bodies. Pretending the daylight erased whatever happened in the darkness. Acting as if I didn't notice the way his breath caught when my hand brushed his chest, or the way he sometimes watched me when he thought I was asleep. It was a dangerous game we were playing-one that threatened the careful boundaries we'd established. But neither of us seemed willing to stop.