Downstairs, Andres was on the living-room couch, on the phone.
The moment he saw Maeve coming down the stairs, he ended the call quickly.
He walked over, concern written all over him. "Did you sleep okay?"
Maeve yawned lightly and nodded. "Like a rock. No dreams."
Over breakfast, Andres said, "Something came up at work. I might need to travel for a few days."
Maeve stopped peeling her egg and looked up. "Travel?"
Andres nodded. "Out of the country."
"Do you want me to come?"
With their current situation, being apart for twenty-four hours was basically impossible.
Andres hesitated.
Part of him wanted her with him.
But where he was going was dangerous—no place for Maeve to be walking around.
"No," he said finally. "I'll adjust my schedule. I'll sleep when you're awake—so it won't interfere."
Maeve nodded and didn't push.
In her mind, she and Andres were partners, nothing more.
A marriage certificate and a shared bed didn't automatically mean they owned each other's lives.
They each had their own world, their own people.
Maeve didn't want to break the balance by stepping into his private sphere—and she didn't want him trying to manage hers.
Mutual non-interference was, for now, the best arrangement.
Andres continued, "Last night's livestream had a massive impact. The whole internet's talking about you and the Morales family."
"Authorities have formed an investigative task force. They're preparing to reopen the Morales case."


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