The kitchen walls were covered in a pale yellow dough-like mess, and the evidence of Beau's crimes still sat at the countertop innocently. A food processor full of the stuff, a spatula, an unused frying pan and a mixture of common baking ingredients were scattered across the table.

     Stasia turned to Beau, her hazel eyes analysing his embarrassed expression. "What happened here?" she wondered, walking around the room. She jumped in surprise when something dropped from the ceiling onto her silk pyjamas, and when Stasia looked up, she registered that the food was splashed across their ceiling as well.

      "I tried to make pancakes." Beau admitted sheepishly. "But unfortunately, I've never made them before, and the food processor clearly didn't like my effort."

       Stasia tried to stop her smile from escaping her control, but it was too late. "And what, it exploded?" she giggled.

       "Something along those lines." he raised his eyebrows meaningfully at her.

       Stasia picked up the food processor, moving to the sink. She glanced at Beau out of the corner of her eye. "Were they your breakfast? I can make you something else if you want, once we've cleaned up this mess."

       Stasia was unnerved by his lack of a response after half a minute, so she turned around. Instantly, she wished that she hadn't given into her curiosity.

     The kitchen mitts Beau held were hanging limply, barely gripped onto in his hand. And the look on his face conveyed a mixture of emotions that Stasia couldn't decipher, no matter how hard she tried. 

     But the one thing that stood out, clear in his eyes, was gratitude.

      Stasia pretended that she hadn't noticed. "I'm not a complete monster, you know." she added playfully, smiling at him.

      Beau cleared his throat, and Stasia caught a flash of surprise in his eyes. "I never said you were one."

      "But the thought was implied, right? I'm not one to play the victim, Beau, I'm just stating a simple fact." Stasia rolled her eyes, scrubbing at the processor ferociously with a sponge.

     "You're not a monster." Beau repeated. Stasia glanced over to him, but he was staring down at the countertop.

     Stasia felt vaguely uncomfortable. "Beau, you know you don't have to say that for my sake. Maybe I'm exaggerating, but I know what people think of me."

     "Stasia." he met her gaze, and Stasia's stomach did an odd flip again. Was it pain she felt? "I know our relationship has changed over the last few years. But I never stopped caring about you. I respect you, and I care about you because I respect you. If that makes sense."

     Respect is the barest form of liking someone, Stasia could only think of replying.

     But she didn't say it. Because maybe this was an olive branch. Maybe Beau was trying to say that by still caring, he wanted to give her another chance.

     And a chance was all Stasia needed.

     "I care about you too." Stasia said quietly. She knew the words were weak, but the meaning she filled them with was important. She meant that with time, maybe the bridge could rebuild.

      Stasia walked over to the microwave, thinking about what to say next, when her foot made contact with a splodge of pancake mix on the floor. Her mind blanked as she tripped, and Stasia knew this was it.

      Until she felt a strong hand gripping just underneath her ribcage, stopping her fall. She looked to her right, and Beau was there. Partly from shock, partly from their close proximity and her own vain curiosity, Stasia did nothing to break the moment.

     Beau was so handsome. She could see every light freckle dotting his skin, the deep brown of his eyes. Darker than hers, but only just.

     He gently reduced the pressure of his hand on her stomach, and she righted herself, smoothing the hem of her dress.

     "Thank you." Stasia said quietly. Unsurely. The air felt perfumed, but what was the scent? A fruit, something sweet and red-feeling. But not sweet enough to be called a strawberry scent.

      Beau cleared his throat and stepped away, breaking the moment. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his suit, looking away from her. "Always."

     Stasia's cheeks flushed raspberry pink, which Beau apparently took as his cue to leave. He stepped out of the kitchen, leaving Stasia to dissect and over-analyse everything in their interaction.

     He'd told Stasia that she wasn't a monster. Proceeded to say that he cared about her, then he saved her from faceplanting the floor. And his words?

      Always? What did that mean? When she fell, he would always pick her up? He would always be there?

      What made things even more confusing was that last night, they agreed to separate. Go their separate ways.

     How would he always be there for her if they didn't even live in the same building anymore?

     Her parents couldn't know. Oh hell, she hadn't even thought about how they'd react if they found out. People at work normally didn't see Beau and Stasia together, so that would be fine hopefully. They didn't employ anyone to work in the house, so they were safe as houses.

     Right?

///

     Turns out Stasia was wrong. Completely, horrifically wrong.

     Weeks after that morning in the kitchen, Anastasia Needmore was walking down a corridor with her team tailing her lead. The floor was teeming with staff from various departments, who all ducked out of sight as Stasia became visible.

     Until someone surfaced who she wasn't expecting. A door opened in an adjacent room and Beau stepped out, engaged in conversation with someone following behind him. Stasia vaguely registered the other man as Suki's fiance, Alex. But her focus was almost completely on her ex-husband. Ex-husband? No, they were still married.

     She had to train herself to think of him as a separated spouse. That was the best way to reconcile their complicated relationship in their head.

     As Beau drew closer, Stasia paled and straightened her tie. She'd gone for a powerhouse three-piece suit today, so she could feel like the strong, confident woman she was. Until her husband made her feel like a girl of seventeen again, in all the worst ways. Her stomach seemed to want to burst out of her body, and she was certain that if she didn't do something soon, something terrible was going to happen.

     So Stasia did something completely stupid, irrational and reckless. Completely unlike her. Instead of confronting the problem head-on, she grabbed Nathalie by the wrist and opened the door nearest to her, pulling them both into the room. Thankfully it wasn't an office full of employees, but rather luckily, a random broom closet.

     Stasia leaned against a cabinet and exhaled. "Phew, that was a close one."

     Natalia only looked at her quizzically.

     Until it happened again. And again. And again.

     After the fifteenth time Stasia had turned to walk in the direction she came from, or suddenly remembered she'd forgotten extremely important paperwork on her desk, or simply kidnapped Natalia as backup, her personal assistant clued in to the common denominator.

     Natalia cleared her throat awkwardly as she asked Stasia one day, "If you don't mind, Anastasia, may I ask you a question?"

     "Go ahead, Natalia." Stasia replied from her desk, poring over her laptop.

     "Why do you make an excuse to leave every time you see Beaufort?" Natalia enquired.

     Stasia's reaction was immediate. She choked on her sip of coffee, then hit her chest to get rid of the sudden intrusion. She glanced up at Natalia sharply. "What on earth made you ask me that?"

     "Curiosity." Natalia replied bluntly. She'd learned long ago that Stasia responded best to flat, complete truth.

     Stasia laughed, against her will. "I assumed it was something of the sort. Well, it's because Beau no longer serves my best interests. It's better if we never see each other again."

     "Even though you work in the same office and, not to mention, you are married to each other?"

     "Precisely." Stasia replied tartly. "Beau is too much of a risk at the moment. I have to mitigate him as much as possible from my life."

     "Does that have to involve dragging me into random rooms with no notice?" Natalia huffed. Understandably.

     "What else can I do, Natalia? It's not like he'll want to talk to me."

     "Don't you think you've done enough moping about? Pardon my intrusiveness, it's just that I'm getting frustrated." Natalia frowned. "You're a capable and determined person, Stasia. It doesn't take a soft personality to run a conglomerate. So I don't understand why, when it comes to a singular relationship, you can't face it head-on."

     Stasia threw her assistant an icy-cool look. "If you divulge what I'm about to tell you to anyone else, you can forget ever finding another job in London." Before Natalia could reply, she steamrollered on. "Beau asked to separate last night."

     True to her excellence, Natalia didn't even flinch. "Didn't you have the dinner with your parents last night?"

     "Of course I did. That's why he thinks we shouldn't be together anymore."

     "Were you ever together to begin with?"

     "On paper, we were considered a married couple for the last three years." Stasia snapped, flicking back her long brunette hair. "My point is, he doesn't want to see me anymore. Why would that change in a professional setting?"

     "Because you're grown ups, not two year olds. You cannot allow your personal matters to affect your work life."

     Stasia felt like she'd been dipped in an ice-cold bucket. "I've never been accused of that. Ever."

     Natalia looked apologetic. "I'm sorry. Perhaps I've gone too far."

     Stasia raked her hands through her perfect hair, clutching it in her hands. She stared aimlessly into space, her lips moving to form shapes of words but not quite working. "We really aren't suited to each other." she whispered. "He's corrupting everything I've worked for."

     "Aren't you doing the same to him?" Natalia questioned.

     Stasia knew what she was going to reply to that. It's not the same, because Beau doesn't care for me like I do for him.

     But was that true?

     Stasia mentally replayed their interaction a few weeks ago, in the kitchen. What had he said?

     I care for you because I respect you. Meaningless words, really. He could have said that to any acquaintance he had. But after years of indifference to each other, crumbs like these were a glorious feast to Stasia.

      And that was when Stasia realised that somewhere in herself, deep down, she still had feelings for her husband Beau Talbot.

///