He closed the door behind him. It clicked softly, the sound echoing in the quiet room. "I wish to speak with you."
She waited. He struggled; it felt strange and unsettling how difficult it was to voice words that weren't strictly practical. He had built walls for years, but standing here now, they felt cumbersome.
"Emma, is this arrangement too difficult for you?" he asked.
She blinked. "Difficult?"
"You seem unhappy."
Her gaze dropped. "I am adjusting."
"To being my wife?" His voice thickened unexpectedly.
"To being your *temporary* wife," she corrected.
The pain behind her simple words hit him squarely, harder than he expected. He sat opposite her, palms braced on his knees. "Emma," he said slowly, "I never wish to hurt you. You must know that."
"I do," she whispered. "But intention does not always protect against effect."
His breath caught. Silence stretched as the fire crackled softly. At last, she spoke again, quietly, but with aching honesty.
"You asked me to marry you because you trusted me. Because I would cause no complications. Because I asked for nothing."
Thomas felt something twist inside him. "Emma—"
"You never considered," she continued gently, bravely, "that I might have feelings."