She Was Never Just the Billionaire’s Wife (Natasha and Chase) novel Chapter 201

(James)

I knock at seven.

Chase opens the door with a dish towel over his shoulder, which strikes me as distinctly out of character.

He looks at me. I look at him.

This is the first time we’re meeting in a social setting and neither of us appear to know how to act.

I’d been surprised when he invited me, and more pleased than I’m going to admit out loud.

“James. Come in. Thank you, that’s very kind."

He takes the bottle of wine I brought and sets it on the counter without checking the label.

He's a man trying to behave normally inside his own apartment and not quite managing it.

I have a feeling he hasn’t had many people over here.

Natasha and I have been spending quite a bit of time together, working at building a relationship, and she sometimes drops little crumbs about her… I’m not sure what to call him.

Technically husband.

They’re not estranged. They’re not divorced. But they’re also not together.

I think she still loves him, and even if things don’t work out for them he’s Lily’s father, he’ll always be part of her extended family.

So I’d like to get to know him. Forge a bond beyond being Lily’s doctor.

"You cooked."

"I’m making pasta. Natasha’s taught me. Several times."

It seems like there’s a story behind that.

"How's it going?"

"It will be edible. I’m not promising anything beyond that. Considering where I started from, that’s actually a pretty lofty goal."

"Edible pasta is my favorite kind, so I’m very excited."

He almost smiles. I almost smile back.

We’re both very out of practice.

We eat at the island because the dining table feels too formal.

We talk about Lily’s latest numbers, which are looking very positive.

We talk about the weather, which seems boring, but it’s very different here to what I was used to in Boston and I bring it up all the time.

He eats like a man who’s relieved the food is in fact edible.

We don’t touch on my relationship to Natasha, or Clarice’s affair with my father.

Not yet.

After dinner we move out to the balcony with our wine.

He leans on the railing with his elbows down.

"I appreciate you coming."

"I appreciate the invite. I’m happy just to hang out, but if there’s something specific you want to talk about, I’m not a bad listener."

He thinks about it for a minute and I drink my wine while I wait for him to decide whether he wants to open up.

I'm not used to seeing him nervous.

In the months I’ve known him he’s been the most controlled man in every room I shared with him.

Tonight the control is hanging off him a little.

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