By the time we got home, I was completely wrung out. The gala's glitter and champagne haze had been nothing but a stage for strangers to look away from their own dull lives and find cheap excitement in ruining mine, and I could still somehow hear them whispering behind me. Sleep didn't help much either, and by morning, I was pacing the kitchen, coffee in hand, staring out at the empty patch of yard that used to hold my garden.

It was silly, maybe, but I missed the way my hands used to smell of rosemary and earth, the way I could coax something beautiful to grow with enough patience and care, something that didn't lie to me or watch me like a hawk waiting for me to mess up.

"You're thinking about it again."

I turned around and saw Adrian standing in the doorway, tie still loose from getting dressed, watching me like he already knew exactly what was on my mind.

"Thinking about what?" I asked, though we both knew I was dodging the question.

He stepped closer, his eyes softer than they'd been in a while. "Your garden, you get this look when you're thinking about it, like you're already out there with your hands in the dirt."

I set my coffee down. "Oh. Is it that obvious?"

"To me? It is." He paused, studying my face. "You miss it."

"I miss having something that was just mine," I admitted. "Something I could control, you know? Something that wouldn't get destroyed by your ex-business partners or turned into headline news. It's just... the past few days have been really overwhelming."

He winced slightly. "I know. I'm sorry about that, about all of it."

"Are you?" The question came out sharper than I meant it to. "Because sometimes I feel like you're not sorry about the chaos that's been happening, only that I got caught up in it."

He was quiet for a long moment, considering that. "You're right," he said finally. "I'm not sorry about who I am or what I've built, but I am sorry that I put you in danger."

The realization hit me then, "You do this very often don't you? Dangerous rivals, threats to your life. It's why you're so guarded all the time, you've already forgotten what normal looks like."

"Maybe I have." He was quiet for a second. "But I remember what you look like when you're happy, and I mean really happy, not just... coping."

The honesty in that caught me off guard. "And?"

"And I want to see it again."

I opened my mouth to answer, but he was already holding out a small paper bag. I took it and peeked inside, in it was the prettiest bundle of tulip bulbs in soft pink and pale yellow, still cool from the florist's fridge.

"They're for you," he said, almost hesitant, like I might refuse them. "And... I was thinking we could take the day off. No calls, no meetings, no Westwood business, just us. Would that help you relax?"

I blinked at him. "You mean... an actual day off? You want to skip work?"

"I know, revolutionary concept," he said with a faint smile. "But I think you need it. Hell, I know I do."

"What about the investors? Or the board members who are questioning our stability?"

"They can wait twenty-four hours." He stepped closer. "The world won't end if Adrian Westwood takes one day to plant flowers with his wife."

"Your wife," I repeated, testing the words.

"My wife," he confirmed, and there was something solid in the way he said it. "Celeste, when's the last time you did something just because you wanted to?"

I thought about it. "I honestly can't remember."

"Neither can I."

That's how I found myself an hour later at a little greenhouse on the edge of the city, the kind of place that smelled like damp soil and sunlight streaming through through glass panes. Adrian followed me through rows of flowers, herbs, and tiny fruit trees, letting me run my fingers over the leaves and breathe in the green scent of growing things.

"I used to come to places like this with my mom," I said, stopping beside some lavender. "She'd spend hours here, said it was better than therapy, that gardens were proof that good things could grow even in difficult ground."

"Smart woman."

"She was." I touched one of the stems. "She would've found you fascinating, I think. She always said I'd end up with someone complicated."

"Fascinating how?"

"Like a puzzle she wanted to solve." I picked up a pot of rosemary. "She collected strays. You know, broken birds, three-legged cats, men with too many secrets."

"Which category do I fall into?"

"All of them, probably."

He laughed. "Fair enough. What about your dad?"

"You know him, shrewd and not the best businessman. But when they were younger, it was a time! He used to be in a biker gang!" I grinned. "Mom said she knew he was the one when he cried harder than she did watching Bambi."

"I don't cry at movies." Adrian said solemnly.

"We'll see about that."

"What about you? What did your family think about your career choices?"

His expression shifted, becoming more guarded. "My family didn't think much about anything I did, they were too busy with their own problems. So no, they weren't really the supportive type."

"Meaning?"

"My dad drank, my mom pretended he didn't and I got good at staying out of the way." He shrugged. "Not much of a story."

"It's your story."

"Yeah, well. It's not a very good one. Besides, they're dead, so it doesn't matter what they thought." He said bluntly.

"Adrian..."

"It's fine," he said, but I could see the tension in his shoulders. "It was a long time ago."

I set down the pot I'd been holding and reached for his hand. "It's not fine. And it doesn't matter how long ago it was."

He looked down at our joined hands. "You don't need to fix me, Celeste."

"I'm not trying to fix you, I'm trying to know you." I squeezed his fingers. "There's a difference."

So we ended up back at home with the kitchen table covered in pots, bags of compost, and clay-stained mugs of tea and I showed him how to loosen the roots before planting, how to pat the soil down just enough without packing it too tight.

"Like this?" he asked, holding up a basil plant.

"Gentler. You're not trying to break it." I guided his hands. "There you go."

He was clumsy at first, his expensive shirt sleeves pushed up to his elbows, dirt under his fingernails, but when he finally got the technique right, the smile he gave me was completely unguarded and warm, he looked genuinely pleased with himself.

"This is... not what I expected," he admitted, brushing a streak of dirt from my cheek.

"Good unexpected or bad unexpected?"

"Good. Definitely good." He paused, studying my face. "When's the last time you looked this relaxed?"

"When's the last time you got your hands dirty?"

"That's not an answer."

"Neither was yours." I grinned at him. "But probably not since I was a kid."

"Really?"

"Really. I used to have this scrappy little patch behind my apartment building, nothing fancy, just some tomatoes and herbs. But it was mine, you know?"

"What happened to it?"

"Life happened, work got crazy, then I met you, then..." I gestured vaguely. "Here we are."

"Do you regret it?"

The question was quiet, careful. Like he wasn't sure he wanted the answer.

"Which part?"

"Any of it. All of it."

I looked at him, really looked. Dirt on his shirt, hair falling in his eyes, completely focused on not crushing a tiny seedling. "Ask me again in six months."

"That's not really an answer either."

"It's the only one I've got right now."

We kept planting as the afternoon wore on, talking about everything and nothing. I told him about my disaster of a first apartment, how I'd killed every plant I touched until I finally figured out what I was doing wrong. He told me about his first big deal, how he'd been so nervous he'd locked himself in a bathroom stall for twenty minutes.

"You? Nervous?"

"Terrified," he admitted. "I was twenty-three and trying to convince men twice my age to trust me with millions of dollars. I had no idea what I was doing."

"And they did?"

"Eventually, although it took a lot of convincing." He grinned.

When we were finally done, Adrian stood behind me, arms around my waist, both of us looking at the little army of green sprouting from pots on the windowsill.

"Not bad for a day's work. Some things you can protect, other things you can help grow." he said against my hair.

I leaned back into him, letting myself believe it, at least for tonight. "And some things grow better in pairs."

"Is that your professional gardening opinion?"

"That's my professional wife opinion."

He laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest against my back. "I like the sound of that."

"Which part?"

"All of it," he said, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "But especially the wife part."