Suzette tucked dark hair behind her ear, shaking her head. “No idea.”

We’d convened in the kitchen—where we always seemed to gravitate—after an uneventful dinner.

Franco spent the evening patrolling the chateau and briefing his security staff on the week ahead. Q hadn’t returned from his gaming room meltdown. And Mrs. Sucre had the night off.

I’d hoped Suzette would help me. After all, she’d been key for me understanding Q at the beginning. She had a sixth sense where her employer and friend was concerned. Then again, so did I.

When we’d arrived home, he couldn’t wait to be on his own. He couldn’t even look at Courage or the other puppies as they came charging from the lounge. Considering he was so attentive and kind to those in need, he didn’t relax around the dogs—almost as if their juvenile charm angered him rather than soothed.

They were only dogs. All they wanted was love. He spent hours caring for his birds…so what was the difference?

I spent another few minutes with Suzette, drowning in questions and worry before I retired to my bedroom. Q wasn’t there, and I deliberated whether I should encroach on his personal space and demand an explanation.

But he’d promised he would tell me within a week.

The week wasn’t up yet.

And I’d vowed to stop being angry and give him space. I didn’t want to hurt him when he was already hurting.

So, instead of doing what I wanted, I forced myself to relax in a bath, and when I finally slipped into bed, I stared at the ceiling for hours waiting for Q to join me.

In all the years of our marriage, we’d never slept apart.

I had to trust that tonight would be no different. He would come to bed. He wouldn’t shut me out so completely.

I was right.

As the glowing screen of my phone showed two a.m., Q finally entered our tower bedroom. His dark silhouette glowed in stark contrast to the white rug as he stripped dark jeans and black t-shirt and climbed into bed.

I lay there, not wanting to damage an already damaged situation, but I couldn't stomach the silence anymore.

I expected him to be drunk. But no whiskey fumes swirled off him.

I bit my lip.

Damn.

It would’ve been easy to get a reaction out of him if he’d been drunk. That was how I got him to string me up and fully show me what he was capable of the first time. He unlocked his cage when he consumed alcohol.

As a few minutes ticked past and we lay stiffly side by side, I’d finally had enough.

Sitting up, I turned on the bedside light, grabbed the black bag Q had used in Castelnaud-des-Fleurs, and unzipped it.

Q propped himself up on his pillows never taking his eyes off me as I loaded the tattoo gun, reached across and removed his wedding ring. Silently, I requested he hold his hand strong and sure.

Without a word, he obeyed.

He let me turn on the vibrating needle and ink his skin with the same inscription he’d done for me.

Je suis à toi. I’m yours.

The words made me his possession. But it did the opposite.

I felt as if I tied a rope between us, staking claim once more that he was mine. With every letter I scrawled, I reaffirmed the vow that he belonged to me in sickness and in health, in happiness and in strife. No matter what he was going through or the fear and pain he refused to share, I would be there for him.

When I’d finally finished and placed the now quiet tattoo gun back into the bag, I whispered, “You’re mine, Q. I’ll be here until you want to talk. And then…when you do, I’ll accept whatever it is you’re dealing with. We’ll get through it together.”

Sighing heavily, Q clutched me to his side. “I’m sorry I’m being such a bastard.”

“I just wish you’d tell me.”

“I will. I promise.” Kissing the top of my head, his powerful arm stretched above us and turned out the light.

Darkness cocooned us, reminding me that we’d found each other in this painful black void and made it our home. Q would do anything for me and me for him.

Having his warmth surrounding me finally stole some of my anxiety, and I relaxed into him.

His chest rose and fell, his heartbeat thudding gently against my spine.

I loved this man.

With all my heart and soul.

He was more than just my master and friend—he was my life.

“Je t'aime, Q.” I love you.

His arms banded exquisitely tight. “Je t'aime avec toutes les ombres du monde pour l'éternité.” I love you with all the shadows in the world for eternity.

Sighing, I fell asleep with our bodies entwined.

At least physical distance didn’t exist between us anymore.

Tomorrow, I’d work on the emotional gap and guide my husband back to me.

I WAS BEING a fucking bastard.

I knew that.

I knew it, but I couldn’t change it.

Every time I tried to talk about what hurt me, my throat clammed up and my heart bucked out of control. When Tess had tattooed me last night, she’d given me more than I could’ve asked for. She gave me time to sort my shit out and the courage in which to do it.

I wouldn’t return home without having the balls to get this over with and tell her. She deserved to know, and I deserved to make peace with it so I could move the fuck on with my life.

Placing my wedding ring on the desk (ignoring medical protocol for new tattoo healing just like Tess had), I traced the dainty lettering on my finger left by my incredible wife and wrenched open the locked cupboard beneath the stationary drawer.