Page 31 of Hitched to my Boss

Something's wrong.

I know it the moment I walk through my front door after three weeks away and find Natalia sitting at the dining table with her laptop closed, and her hands folded in front of her like she's preparing for a termination meeting. The cabin looks different somehow, less lived-in despite the personal touches she'd added. More like a space someone's preparing to leave.

"You're back," she says, not moving from her chair.

"I'm back." I set my gear by the door, studying her face for clues about what's shifted in my absence. "The Hartwell project is complete. Successfully."

"Congratulations."

The single word carries none of the warmth or enthusiasm I'd expected. No questions about the details, no interest in how the complex pack dynamics had required innovative relocation strategies that exceeded even Hartwell's expectations. Just polite acknowledgment, like I'm a stranger reporting news she's obligated to hear.

"Natalia, what's going on?"

"We need to talk." She gestures to the chair across from her. "About our situation."

Situation.Not marriage, not relationship, not the future we'd started building before I left. The clinical terminology sets off every alarm I've developed over four years of careful isolation.

"All right." I sit, maintaining the distance she's obviously established between us. "What about our situation?"

"I've been thinking about what we're doing here. About what I've given up to make this work." Her voice is controlled, clipped. "I think I need to go back to Atlanta."

The words hit like a sucker punch. "Go back to Atlanta."

"I've been neglecting my career, my clients, my entire professional life for the past month. I lost a major client this week because I wasn't available when she needed me. Another potential client dismissed me because I'm 'dealing with personal complications.'" She meets my eyes directly, and I can see the walls she's rebuilt in my absence. "I can't continue to sacrifice my professional identity for a relationship that started as an accident."

"Is that all you think this is? An accident we're dragging out?"

"Isn't it?" She opens a folder beside her laptop, pulling out what looks like a printout of flight information. "Jason, we got drunk and married someone we barely knew. We decided to make it work because it was convenient for your business and because we're attracted to each other. But that's not enough to build a sustainable relationship on."

"What about what we decided before I left? What about making this real?"

"I got caught up in the moment. In the romance of it all." She folds her hands again, the gesture so controlled it screams of practiced composure. "But the reality is that I've abandoned everything I worked for to play house with a man I've known for a month. That's not healthy. That's not who I am."

"According to who?"

Something flickers in her expression, gone so quickly I almost miss it. "According to me. According to the career I've spent ten years building. According to the professional reputation I've damaged because I was too distracted by my husband to do my job properly."

"And going back to Atlanta fixes that?"

"Going back to Atlanta lets me rebuild what I've lost. Let’s me prove to myself and my industry that I'm still the professional I used to be, not just someone who disappeared into a relationship the moment things got intense."

"So this is about fear."

"This is about being realistic instead of living in a fantasy." She stands, moving toward the kitchen with her back to me. "Jason, what we have is chemistry and circumstance. That's not enough to sustain a marriage."

"What about trust? What about partnership? What about the fact that we work better together than either of us works alone?"

"We work well together professionally. That doesn't mean we should be married."

"Bullshit." I stand, my frustration finally boiling over. "You're running, Natalia. You're scared of how real this got, and you're looking for any excuse to bolt."

Her eyes flash with anger. "I'm being practical. Something one of us has to be."

"Practical? You're willing to throw away the best thing either of us has ever found because some client couldn't reach you for three weeks?" I move closer, refusing to let her retreat. "That's not practical. That's cowardice."

"Don't you dare call me a coward for protecting my career."

"I'm calling you a coward for sabotaging yourself." I close the distance between us, seeing the flicker of uncertainty she's trying to hide. "You're terrified that if you stay here, if you reallycommit to this, you might have to depend on someone else. You might have to trust that I won't disappear the way everyone else in your life has."

---